


Shattered and Hollow

by EpsilonWrites



Series: Overanalysis [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Be prepared for the sads, Blood, Breathplay, Choking, Daddy Kink, Double Agent Gabriel, Fluff and Angst, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, I psychoanalyze fictional characters for fun, Injury, M/M, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Smut, Torture, Violence, oops I wrote actual smut in the second chapter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-17
Updated: 2017-03-23
Packaged: 2018-10-06 10:43:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 29,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10332872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EpsilonWrites/pseuds/EpsilonWrites
Summary: Their stories, from start to not-quite-finished.





	1. Morrison

**Author's Note:**

> The first step in a character study series I'll be doing on Overwatch characters!
> 
> If you like what I write, follow me on Tumblr at https://epsilon-writes.tumblr.com! I take requests :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For my extended headcanon on how they got together, read my fic "Crushed"!

              When he’s 19, John “Jack” Morrison runs into Gabriel Reyes.

              Literally.

              He keeps his head down most of the time, so it’s no surprise that he runs headfirst into the man. He’s fixed with a hard glare and a growled, “watch where you’re fuckin’ going” before he’s off running, a muttered “sorry” left in his wake. Jack reaches the training room and works out for about 3 hours trying to clear his head.

              It doesn’t work.

              He sinks into bed that night (well, as much as he can with the uncomfortable mattresses) and stays wide awake thinking about what this Reyes character must think of him now. What venomous words must be spewing from the other man’s mouth about SEP Candidate serial number what-the-fuck-ever. He needs to know and it plagues him until he works up the courage to stand in front of Gabriel holding his own wrist in a death grip behind his back.

              “No hard feelings about last week, right?” a bead of sweat rolls down from his forehead into the collar of his regulation shirt.

              Reyes looks at him like he’s grown a second head. He squints at Jack’s nametag and mumbles, “Morrison, huh?”

Jack gulps. He feels like he’s about to get decked in the face before brown eyes bore into his with a raised eyebrow and a, “who are you again?”

              Part of him is relieved that Reyes doesn’t remember him. The other part is mournful, because _of course no one would remember him._ “Ran into you by accident,” he says, and it takes all his effort to maintain eye contact with this man.

              “Oh, that. Yeah. I was in a bad mood, nothing personal. Forget about it.”

              Jack doesn’t forget about it.

***

              He doesn’t like being paired up with people in activities. He grew up in a “pull your own weight or learn how” family, and despite the fact that they’re in some elite government-funded project in the middle of nowhere, there are still slackers. They complain that it’s Jack’s fault for being a kiss-ass and that’s why he always wants to focus, but it’s not true, he swears to himself. They just don’t have the same drive.

              Then there are the soldiers who care too much, bandying about their own egos in hopes that they’ll gather admirers. They’re just as annoying, if not more. Jack doesn’t get where they get off stepping on those less privileged to make themselves look better. He knows he has to be on the right train of thought.

              Right?

              He starts to doubt his own validity around the time that the brass pair him up with Gabriel. The man is sporting a beanie when he plops himself down next to Jack and grunts a vague “hey” in his direction.

              “You’re my partner for the next simulation. Meet me tonight at 2100 hours in training room C so we can make sure we don’t fuck this up.” With that he leaves. Jack is honestly surprised; as blunt as the man is, it seems as though he has the same desire to succeed, albeit begrudging.

              Something nags at him and tells him that the injections will probably change their motivation as much as they will change their bodies.

              At 2030 he does a few warmups and then heads down to training room C, where Gabriel is already standing doing stretches with his back to the door. Jack is lost for words, and he’s not sure if this is considered voyeuristic or not.

              The jig is up when Gabriel grunts as he touches his toes and says, “you just gonna stand there or are we doin’ this?” Some twisted part of Jack wants to make a lewd joke, but he refrains for fear of his face getting a brand new dent.

              “What’s the plan?” He ventures, treading lightly around this unfamiliar presence.

              “Test of strategy. Just do what you’re told and don’t ask questions.” He’s slightly offended that Gabriel doesn’t trust him to think of his own ideas, but the man has been through basic already and probably knows more of what he’s doing than Jack does. Besides, he’s perfectly content not saying a word.

              He’s learned to keep his mouth shut.

              It turns out that Reyes has some great ideas, and they both complete the simulated mission with ease under his orders. He’s panting by the end of it and he can only wonder when they’ll be injected with this mystery serum. Gabriel approaches him and claps him on the back and Jack feels somewhat uncomfortable with the gesture.

              He’s unused to strangers being friendly like that. It usually means they want something.

              “Nice job out there, Morrison. Meet tomorrow, same time. You’re not a screw-up so I’ll have us ace this shit, understand?” Jack nods quietly. He refuses to meet Reyes’ eyes.

              By the end of the next training session he’s a little more familiar with Gabriel. He sees the way the other man moves, gets an idea for how his brain works, and he can’t help but want to know more about what makes him tick. He’s the first one of these fuckers who actually has any healthy ambition whatsoever. Well, out of the people Jack’s interacted with, and that’s not too many.

              They rank high on the test as expected and Gabriel doesn’t stick around. Jack tries to tell himself he didn’t want to see the other man again anyway.

***

              The brass select the top-performing candidates for injections first, prompting several people to shove Jack with a “that’s what you get for sucking up to everyone” or some variant of the statement. He supposes he deserves it though- none of them are exactly looking forward to experiencing the vague “side effects” they signed off on the waiver.

              He almost panics when he’s strapped down and the medic produces a needle that he’s convinced is about as thick as his pinky. The pain is intense, and he’s sure he blacks out for at least a minute while drugs ooze their way into his body. They throw him into a wheelchair and escort him back to his room. He stumbles over to his bed and collapses onto the mattress that feels way too comfortable.

              “You have two hours until sparring, recruit. Don’t be late.” The door hisses shut behind whoever has taken him to his quarters. Jack’s bunkmates are horrified when he breaks into a cold sweat after about five minutes, curling up into a ball and shivering. They offer their sympathy when he trips over his own feet in a desperate attempt to get to the bathroom to vomit, and one of them even cautiously approaches only to be met with a shuddered, “don’t… touch me.”

              He feels like his skin is being ripped off with each brush of his clothes, and he’s pretty sure he’d scream in pain if someone laid their hands on him. He kneels there until his stomach doesn’t feel like it’s being twisted inside out and lumbers back to his bed and succumbs to fitful sleep.

              Jack wakes up 5 minutes before he’s supposed to be down in the sparring ring still feeling like shit, and he wonders if he could successfully skip out without someone coming after him. He hauls himself out of the room and down a few levels and stumbles into the training area just as attendance is being taken.

              He croaks out, “Sir, yes sir” when his name is called and then slumps against a wall without impetus to find a sparring partner. To his mild surprise, Reyes stalks over to him and taps him lightly.

              “Drugs do a number on you?” he asks. Jack grunts. He faintly hears Gabriel rattle off about how they “shouldn’t do that” and how “he was fine after he slept it off” before the world starts spinning and he passes out.

***

              A concerned face swirls into view when Jack can see properly again. He’s wearing a surgical mask and has a hand on the blonde’s face, twisting it back and forth. He shines a light in Jack’s eye and hums thoughtfully when Jack groans and tries to turn his head away.

              “Welcome back, recruit. Thought we lost you for a second there. What do you remember?” It’s all clinical and impersonal and Jack hates it. He knows this doctor doesn’t give two shits about him, he’s just asking for posterity. He’s not _that_ naïve despite what the others say behind his back.

              “Got m’first injection, got sick, slept, went to spar, talked to Reyes, passed out,” he mumbles, his throat feeling like sandpaper sliding together. The medic is furiously taking notes, nodding once or twice.

              He clicks his pen and says, “yes, that particular recruit brought you in here. On his shoulders if I recall. Well, once you’re fit to stand you can go, I have a few other patients to attend to.”

              Jack stares at the ceiling as the door clicks shut and lets out a long, tortured breath. He twitches as he hears arguing outside and a familiar voice growling, “I don’t give a shit, he was my responsibility when I got him here, he’ll be my responsibility until he leaves!”

              The door bursts open and a very agitated Gabriel shoulders his way in with a panicked nurse trailing behind him. He shuts the door in her face after threatening to pull rank and turns to Jack.

              “You still alive, fucker?!” Jack lazily turns his head and Gabriel lets out a sigh of what he hopes is relief. “Can’t say I was expecting you to live for a while there. They usually don’t.”

              Jack squints at the other SEP recruit. “How long?” he asks.

              “About five hours. You missed dinner, but they should have some spare grub lyin’ around. Not like it’s worth eating,” Reyes scoffs. He turns to Jack with a serious expression. “We should hang out more,” he ventures, “you’re one of the only people in this place that gives a damn, even if you are the little Golden Boy. Plus, someone has to keep track of your sorry ass the next time you keel over and nearly die.”

              Jack lets out a breathy, pathetic laugh. “Sure, man. Whatever you say.”

***

              Gabriel starts eating lunch with him after that, and despite the foreboding atmosphere the man gives off, Jack starts noticing little quirks about his personality that give away what he’s really like. Considering the fact that he’s offered Jack his pseudo-friendship, there must be more to Gabriel Reyes than his ability to glare people into submission.

              They attempt sparring together after Jack recovers, and he finds that the older man is a force to be reckoned with even without the extent of the injections. He manages to get him on his back a few times, though, and something about the challenging smirk he receives gets Jack a little worked up in ways it shouldn’t.

              He opens up to the other man slowly but surely, becoming more and more comfortable with saying what’s really on his mind, and Gabriel doesn’t seem to criticize him. Part of Jack clings onto those old insecurities, and he convinces himself that _no, he’s not special._

              Around the fourth set of injections, he realizes he might be wrong.

              He happens to have his right after Gabriel, and he passes the other in the doorway. Reyes gives him a pat on the back before he’s taken away and strapped down. It hurts like hell, as usual, and he staggers into the hallway clutching his arm only to be greeted by the very man he had assumed wouldn’t think to wait up for him.

              Although, he supposes Gabriel knows how badly the drugs sometimes treat Jack, and for some twisted reason he has decided to make sure the blonde survives this round. He’s grateful for the support as Gabe doesn’t look too great either, and without speaking they both lean on each other as they make it back to someone’s room- Jack’s not sure whose.

              He barely makes it before he’s puking his guts up with Reyes’ clumsy hand on his back. He collapses against the wall to the right of the toilet, drool and bile at the corners of his mouth. His eyes are unfocused and when he looks at his hands he’s pretty sure that his skin isn’t supposed to look like _that._

              Jack registers Gabe taking his turn throwing up before a concerned face swims into his field of vision. He has the faint sensation of being moved, which just makes him want to throw up again, before everything goes black.

              This time when he wakes up in the hospital bed, Gabe is still there. He looks awful- his face is inflamed and he looks like he’s gotten a nosebleed at some point. The sigh of relief that greets him washes over Jack’s face like a warm summer breeze.

              “I swear you’re gonna kill me yourself, Boy Scout,” Reyes chuckles, “giving me a heart attack like that.”

              Jack shifts and wrinkles his nose at the layer of sweat that’s soaked through the bedsheets underneath his back. “Good to know someone worries about me sometimes,” he murmurs, voice cracked.

              Gabe mutters something under his breath, something that starts with “of course” but Jack can’t be bothered to pry. He doesn’t care past the fact that the other man stayed and has some semblance of concern for Jack’s well-being.

              Hell, he might even say that they’re friends.

***

              By the time they graduate the SEP, Gabe is closer than Jack could have ever hoped. He allows himself the luxury of thinking that Gabe thinks the same of him, if only for the fact that Jack bailed him out of trouble with the brass that one time. He said that he didn’t know Jack could run his mouth like that afterwards; Jack didn’t either.

              The injections never let up on him in terms of side effects, but the results are spectacular. Jack hardly recognizes himself in the mirror these days, and he was a pretty built kid growing up. They’ve done heaps of favors to Gabriel too- the man’s body even got more shapely with the muscle piled on. There’s also a vague memory of a drunken moment in which Gabriel squashed what looked like a watermelon between his thighs that swirls into the forefront of Jack’s consciousness every so often, usually accompanied by the frantic need to find somewhere private and jerk off.

              Jack tries to think rationally about his attraction to his friend, telling himself it’s just because Gabriel is the only person he feels like he can talk to without wanting to bang his head against a wall. He knows it’s much more than that, and that he’s well and truly fucked. And not in the fun way.

              At the same time, Jack would rather die than sacrifice the trust he’s built with Reyes, so he’s content to leave whatever they have wherever Gabriel wants to keep it.

              That doesn’t mean he won’t indulge himself in the more physical moments between the two. He hangs onto the fond parts of the injection memories, between the vomiting and sweating and knowing that he’s one of the lucky ones to have survived this long, and holding desperately onto his friend’s large frame, panting and sometimes even sobbing.

              He was scared to death of losing him. He’d seen the empty beds, the vanished faces, the forlorn air of the commons whenever someone died, and he would find himself digging his fingernails into his skin whenever he realized that he might never see Gabriel’s face again. He berates himself whenever he doubts that his death would garner the same reaction.

              If Jack is honest with himself, he’s still terrified.

              Part of him is relieved that Gabriel and him are put on the same team together, agents of some upstart initiative fondly entitled the Overwatch Strike Team. Gabriel will have his own command, Jack will get to stay part of their little dynamic duo, and they’ll make a difference if all goes well.

              The other part of him knows that being Gabriel’s SIC means having to take the position of Commander straight from his friend’s cold, dead fingers should the time come. He can’t stomach it.

              It’s awkward meeting the rest of the team. He’s scared of Ana, and he doesn’t want to get on her bad side. Ever. The look on Gabriel’s face tells him the other man feels exactly the same way. They’re introduced to Fareeha and she seems to take to them immediately, excitedly clapping and reaching up at them. Jack finds her adorable. Reinhardt is a little much at first, but Jack quickly realizes that his loudness is simply out of his own good nature. He likes Liao, and he thinks they won’t have many problems. He nearly trips over Torbjӧrn and immediately apologizes, and Gabe laughs at him.

              He barely says a word the entire time, but for the first time besides his one-on-ones with Gabe, he doesn’t feel like he needs to. He feels like he fits.

              Belongs.

***

              The battlefield is radically different than casual human interaction, Jack finds. He has an easier time talking, almost as if the adrenaline pumping through his veins allow him to forgo his inhibitions, at least for a while. He barks out his responses to Gabriel’s orders and carries them out with no hesitation, almost taking on a cocky air as his enhanced talents are realized.

              It doesn’t change a thing about his regular conversations, and in the moments where he struggles to hold a confident façade in the presence of strangers, he wishes it did.

              Jack barely believes that the tales of their accomplishments actually make it onto public television. He nearly panics the first time someone recognizes him on the street, and barely makes it back to base before sprinting to his and Gabe’s quarters to sequester himself away.

              Said roommate saunters in a half-hour later, sees Jack staring blankly at a wall, and immediately leaves. Jack’s heart clenches in a way he hates. He kicks himself for believing that Gabe actually cared enough to support him past his passing fancy. He wonders whether he was ever cut out for a soldier’s work in the first place.

              Then Gabe comes back with a glass of water and three oranges.

              He sets the water and fruits down next to Jack’s bunk and nudges his feet to the side, making room to sit. He starts talking about his childhood, how he grew up with a sister and a brother, how he was always the one to be served food last because he was the oldest, how his father plays the guitar, how his mother has started to sit by the window more in her old age and stare wistfully out at the busy LA streets.

              Jack repays the favor by sharing stories of life on the farm, how he’d wake with the sun most mornings, how he used to hide from his father in the cornfields to escape his chores, how he got quieter and quieter as his parents’ voices got louder and louder. How living without a mother since he was twelve felt, and how his father looks at him with as much sadness as love in his eyes because he looks just like her.

Gabriel listens the entire time, fingers drumming arrhythmically on Jack’s leg. When he senses the blonde slipping back into silence he sits him upright and pushes the glass into his hands and orders him to drink half. He then hands him the oranges, and when Jack questions him on his choice of food he gets a gruff, “eat your fuckin’ fruit, Morrison.”

              It’s undeniable that he feels marginally better, what with the actual talking about things for once combined with the nutrients in his system. He ends up leaning on Gabe’s shoulder, just _breathing_ , letting the all-but-silent rumble of the building lull them both into tranquility. An arm makes it up onto his shoulder and he doesn’t have to wonder what it means. What _they_ mean. Because in this moment, they don’t have to mean anything.

              Because with Gabe, Jack doesn’t have to pretend either way.

***

              When he wakes up after dropping a building on himself with Gabe holding his hand, he can’t help but be reminded of the times the injections had fucked with him and nearly killed him. He had later found out that Gabriel been so concerned because he had “seen too many good people die to those damned drugs.”

              Jack doesn’t like to think about where he’d be if they weren’t in the same place at the same time. If Gabe hadn’t cared.

              He has security now. Not only within their little squadron, their small family, but with Gabriel. As he stares at the ceiling, the feeling of Gabe’s hand in his and their awkward kiss still tingling, he wonders what will change between them. With time, he realizes that nothing really does except for the fact that he has a very pleasant presence next to him while he sleeps.

Well, that and other perks.

              Sex with Gabriel is easy, comfortable, familiar. He’s not a virgin, neither is Gabe, but their first time together is nothing like Jack’s ever felt before. The beard looks great on him, and Jack wonders why he was ever skeptical about it as soon as he feels it scrape against his skin. He loves the weight of the other man, the low rumble of his voice in the blonde’s ear like distant thunder. He loves the way battle-hardened hands slide across the planes of his body like he’s something precious, the way they grip each other with increasing intensity as they get closer, closer, _closer_.

              He’s not embarrassed by the noises Gabriel coaxes from him, why should he be? He’s surrounded by nothing but the other, not to mention the low moans he gets in return. Jack’s eyes drift down to the dip of his own hips, to the place where he and his partner are joined, and he relishes in the marks decorating the pale expanse of his skin. He’s sure that at some point later he will press his fingers into them to recall in intimate detail the night they were left on him.

              Gabe tilts his head up and presses their lips together, threading his fingers through Jack’s and holding tight. He doesn’t need words to feel the meaning behind those actions. _I’m desperate for you, I want to make you feel good, to feel me feel good, I need all of you._

_I love you._

Jack doesn’t need to hear it because he already knows he feels the same. He’s not sure he ever wants to share this with anyone else.

              They move together in a delicate yet unrelenting crescendo until Jack’s back arches and he feels himself fall. He’s panting when he comes down from the high, and he distantly registers Gabe gently nosing at the curve of his throat. He lets his hands run soothingly down the other man’s back, feeling the rise and fall with each gulp of breath.

              Gabriel eventually moves away and Jack laments the empty feeling it leaves him with and the sudden rush of cold air across his heated skin. He is greeted with a wet washcloth running over his stomach, and he squirms away from the discomfort only to be laughed at. The torment eventually ends and he’s gathered into welcoming arms.

              “Safe to say I did a good job then, eh Sunshine?” Gabriel taunts.

              “Just you wait until next time,” Jack chuckles back, squeezing the other man’s rear as a promise.

              Gabe bites the lobe of his ear and lets out a terribly enticing sound.

              “Can’t wait, Jackie.”

***

              Up until the end of the Crisis, Jack doubts that they’ll actually make it out alive. It feels surreal when he stands up there with the rest of the Strike Team in front of an entire hall full of people. It’s almost dizzying, as is the after-party in which he puts on his best sociable face and interacts with dozens of dignitaries, doling out formalities like that’s what he’s paid to do, not run and shoot at debatably-alive beings.

              It’s incredibly awkward trying to push away the flirtatious advances of some of the conversation partners that wander a little too close, the smell of alcohol tainting their breath. He can’t exactly say, “sorry, I’m in a relationship with my Commander, please try again later.” Although the rest of the Strike Team has accepted and even expressed relief at the reveal of Gabriel and Jack’s partnership, he keeps in his mind the fact that what they’re doing is very much taboo outside their social circle.

              He makes the excuse of being “married to his pulse rifle” and leaves it at that.

              Later, in the comfort of his own bed, he and Gabriel sit with Jack’s arms wrapped loosely around his waist from behind. Jack asks what he thought of the after-party.

              “Networking was useful, I know more people, all that. Mostly fuckin’ annoying though, especially the people who wanted to sleep with me. Just told them all I didn’t swing that way and let them figure it out among themselves.”

              The response makes Jack laugh, because of course he would sow turmoil within the ranks of stuffed up diplomats just to see them squabble over what way Gabriel Reyes really did swing. It makes him slightly jealous of the other man’s courage as well, though Jack does try his best to stomp on that feeling immediately.

              Gabriel shifts in his grasp and leans further back against Jack’s chest. “Heard something from the brass,” he says, “they want to make Overwatch a global thing. Build bases, recruit specialists, all that shit. Might even get promoted too.”

              Jack’s heart swells with pride. He tightens his hold, effectively hugging Gabriel closer, and presses light kisses down the length of his spine, smirking at the shiver it garners from the other man.

              “That’s great, Gabe,” he whispers. His hand deviously snakes down the trail of hair below Gabriel’s bellybutton and teases at the waistband of his boxers. Jack nips at the junction between Gabe’s neck and shoulder as his head lolls to the side at the sensation. It’s these quiet moments that let him keep going the way he does, the moments where he doesn’t mind the attention because it’s Gabe’s attention.

              “Want me to congratulate you properly?”

***

              He’s called into a meeting with the Strike Team and the rest of the UN a week later. They look excessively proud of themselves, and offer the soldiers a seat in a way that makes Jack cringe.

              “We have made the decision regarding the Overwatch Strike Team’s expansion into a full-fledged organization, and we couldn’t be happier to announce the chain of command.” The tone of the presenter has a venomous undertone to it, and a quick glance over to Gabriel tells him that he senses it too.

              Liao, Reinhardt and Torb are promoted to senior officers for their efforts, and are asked to leave. They do, with Reinhardt spreading his massive arms and going on about the honor with which they have been bestowed.

              “Ana Amari will be given the rank of Captain, and will take up the position of Second-in-Command.” That worries Jack. He knows Ana deserves the position, but that probably means he’ll be demoted into another faction of the organization. His musings are cut short by the next announcement.

              “We also plan on forming a more… covert organization within Overwatch, one that does what needs to be done without damaging our reputation. This ‘Blackwatch’, if you will, shall be overseen by Commander Gabriel Reyes, while the Overwatch Strike Commander position will be filled by Jack Morrison. Congratulations to you both.”

              Jack’s stomach drops. He surges forward, fully prepared to argue until it kills him when a hand on his shoulder stops him. It’s Ana’s, and Gabriel steps forward in his stead.

              “Thank you for your consideration. We won’t let you down.” Jack wants to break, to go back to the moment the UN chose him and slit whoever’s throat it was, if only to keep his lover from sounding so _defeated_. They shuffle out in silence and he’s not sure if Gabriel even wants him in their quarters at this point.

              Gabe latches onto his wrist and pulls him in whichever direction he wants, Jack doesn’t care. They make it to where they’re staying and he stands dumbly in front of his partner, fully expecting a reprimand, almost _wanting_ some sort of anger to be taken out on him as he tells himself he deserves it.

              Instead, he’s pulled into a gentle hug and that’s it. He cries, _sobs_ in Gabriel’s arms, and it doesn’t make it any better when the other man starts as well. Gabe doesn’t do it often because he’s a damn ugly crier, which is the worst part.

              Jack’s not sure how long they stand there just holding each other until he’s led into the bathroom to splash water on his face, to clean up the evidence of their vulnerability. Gabe is the first one that speaks.

              “Are you gonna be ok? I know you’re not the social type.” Jack almost slaps him, because how dare he worry about him, how dare he always put Jack before himself, how dare he allow Jack to be so selfish.

              Instead of spewing out all that, he merely shrugs and grips the sink with both hands.

              “Just come to me if you get overwhelmed, got that? You’re a damn good strategist and you’re scary with that rifle. You’ll do fine.” Gabe tenderly loops his arms around one of Jack’s and rests his head atop his shoulder.

              Jack allows himself to lean back into the touch. “What about you? You deserved this so much more than me.” His words are measured. Calculated. Better get used to it, he tells himself.

              Gabriel sighs. “Was always good at hitting ‘em where it hurts and getting the hell out, suppose they made the right choice in a weird, fucked-up way. If I’m lucky, they’ll give me a nice retirement story. Maybe let the fake me kick back on the beach until I bite the dust.”

Jack laughs hollowly at the joke, knowing it’s Gabriel’s way of denying himself what he’s really feeling. He takes solace in the fact that his lover doesn’t hate him for all he’s worth, and tugs the other man to bed.

              He worships the Gabe’s body that night, desperately showing him without words how much he means, that he’s saved Jack as much as Jack saved him. Gabe accepts it, relishes in the way his lover touches him, gets more vocal than usual when Jack finally gets his mouth on him. Jack searches as he pushes into Gabe and stares into the depths of his eyes for that spark, the reciprocity of his feelings, his love. He almost sobs in relief when he finds it.

              He presses his forehead to the other man’s as they both approach their end and swears he sees a tear fall from the corner of one of those beautiful brown eyes.

***

              The first thing Jack notices about his new office is how much… _room_ there is. It’s too spacious, like a gaping maw threatening to swallow him whole. He hates that they clearly designed it for someone who doesn’t use a gun for a living. He supposes it will have to do, and carefully arranges his meager collection of personal things around the space to make it feel more like home.

              Then he realizes that he has nothing left to put in his quarters. _Fuck._

              The quarters themselves take a while to get used to, especially due the lack of a certain someone every night. Gabriel gets sent out on his first mission almost immediately, and Jack doesn’t have the opportunity to think about it due to being cooped up with diplomatic meetings and procedures.

              He collapses onto his bed one night only to find that Gabe is already there, and he rolls over and throws his limbs over the Blackwatch Commander lazily.

              “Running you ragged, are they?” Jack groans in response, his voice muffled.

              Gabriel chuckles lowly and begins pressing his fingers into his partner’s back in a mockery of a massage. He kisses Jack’s forehead at the tired moan he gets from his ministrations. As for the blonde, he slowly nestles himself into Gabriel’s comfort, into their familiarity, and he can’t help but believe the other man.

              They’ll be okay.

***

              Blackwatch knows they’re together. Apparently not even Gabriel is secretive enough to keep that information from his people. Jack doesn’t often interact with the covert squadron, but he finds that there’s a certain nostalgia he attributes to the little group. He hears Gabe refer to it as a “family” more than once throughout their time together, and he can’t help but feel jealous.

              He loves Overwatch and its members, he really does; he also knows that it would tear him apart to care for each of them like he cares for the Strike Team. He doesn’t have that privilege anymore.

              Despite the pitfalls and the publicity, the latter of which nearly makes Jack vomit, he finds himself enjoying some of the duties of Strike Commander. Training the new recruits allows him to access the part of him that comes out when he’s on the battlefield, and it’s much easier to talk that way. Even if the trainees look at him as if he holds the world in the palm of his hand.

              He spends much more time with the old Strike Team members than anyone else, as if trying to retain what they all used to have. Even so, he feels himself change. His speeches get written for him, and he desperately clings to the times where what he says hasn’t been rehearsed and isn’t going to be filmed. He looks at himself in the mirror and sometimes wants to punch it until it shatters, knowing full well that it should be Gabriel in that room, instead of going out on secret missions with no recognition in sight.

              Still, the small periods of time in which Gabriel is in the same Watchpoint as him are cherished with all he has, in spite of the knowing stares he gets from the Blackwatch agents as he strides down their halls.

              One particular time, he traverses down into the Blackwatch area only to run headfirst into someone he doesn’t know. The boy is a bit scrawny, has the bare minimum of a beard and _dear god is that a cowboy hat_. The new agent seems to delight at his confusion, and tips the ridiculous hat at him in a mock salute.

              “Enjoy yer stay, Commander Cornfucker,” he says before continuing on his way. Jack stands there trying to register what exactly just happened before pinching himself to make sure he’s not dreaming. He high-tails it to Gabe’s door and bursts in.

              The other man is sitting at his desk, a multitude of files open on the hologram screen in front of him, and he turns in surprise at Jack’s sudden entrance.

              “That eager to see me, Sunshine?” he teases.

              “Who, uh- who’s the new guy?” Jack asks. Gabe looks at him for a moment, confused.

              “Oh, him. That’s Jesse McCree. Picked up the little fucker on the raid we did on Deadlock. Kid has unbelievable aim with a revolver, and it was either join us or get locked up for the rest of his life. Not sure which option is better,” Gabe laughs. The morbid undertone of that statement is something Jack makes a mental note to explore more when he has the chance.

              As it is, he’s perfectly happy to accept Gabriel’s decisions. He has trusted the other man with his life many a time, and hasn’t been let down yet.

              He won’t get over the Cornfucker thing, though.

              They recruit Angela shortly after she visits their organization and the picture that now sits on Jack’s desk is taken. She’s idealistic yet kind, and approaches every situation with a go-getter attitude and a lot of optimism. Jack prays that won’t be taken away.

***

              The Halloween party is no small endeavor, and Reinhardt goes all out with making it (what he thinks is) the scariest event they’ve ever held. Gabriel says he’ll be late, mumbling something about making a few “final touches” on his costume.

              Jack sits on the far end of the couch and watches Ana take as many pictures as she can of their relatively small turnout. Multiple conversations are taking place at once, and Jack lets himself sink into the buzz of energy and just _listen_. He doesn’t get to do a lot of it these days.

              This is what he used to have. This is the time where he’s allowed to be silent without all the questions, all the flashing lights, all the skepticism. He enjoys it heavily.

              Reinhardt’s story is amusing, and Jack hopes that none of them are fallible enough to be frightened. Gabriel shows up, dramatic as per usual, and scares the hell out of the German man. Jack merely laughs at the scene, leaning down to make sure the ex-Crusader hasn’t damaged any part of himself and trying not to think about the belts that beautifully accentuate his lover’s waist.

              At least, not right now.

              Once the damage is under control, Jack backs against a far wall and leans on it, listening to Gabe joke with Angela about making their uniforms. He smiles and catches the man’s eye, slowly and discreetly pulling down the zipper on his chest teasingly, raising an eyebrow and worrying his lower lip with his teeth. He preens at the blush that colors Gabriel’s cheeks and crooks a finger at the Blackwatch Commander in a “come hither” motion.

              He knows Gabriel will deny speed-walking over to him and dragging him into the nearest empty room later. Well, at least he can cross “kinky Halloween sex” off his bucket list. Or was that on Gabriel’s?

***

              Of all other things, they end up recruiting a cheery stunt pilot and a gorilla. Winston is an amazing addition to their team, and Jack wishes he could get clearance for him and Agent Zhou to work together. He’s glad they keep the lunar native on base, otherwise they probably would have lost Oxton to the flow of time after her accident.

              He has a feeling that she’s grateful to him for his frequent visits to her. It’s the least he can do to boost her morale while she recovers, he wants her to feel like she belongs. She starts zipping around him frequently afterwards, always greeting him with a “cheers, Commander!” before speeding off to her next assignment.

              He’s grateful for her attitude, and it’s almost as if he has a face to assign to his efforts now. He’ll do his best to make sure kids like her have a future to look forward to. He soon realizes his optimism only goes so far.

              Blackwatch brings in the younger Shimada not long after. The doctor works her best on the boy, trying to rebuild him from scratch, like that can’t have any consequences. Jack goes to the UN for their orders and comes back fighting with himself. He doesn’t want to offer demand service to Overwatch in return for Genji’s life, they aren’t the mafia.

              His arguments are neutralized when they threaten his job.

              The Shimada is inducted into Overwatch and used, like some living weapon, to destroy what he used to call his family. Jack wishes he could do something to help the boy as he stomps through the base, talking with venom and hatred in his voice. But he can’t.

              He’s not good at that.

***

              The years in Overwatch become a blur soon enough, a blur of not knowing where Gabriel goes most of the time, and of seeing him recede into the brutality of his job more and more, knowing that he’s near powerless to stop it. A blur of speeches, of cameras shoved in his face, of more and more questions regarding Overwatch’s continued usefulness.

              The UN is no help, telling him to smile his way through it, saying that the people look to him as the pinnacle of leadership and freedom. Jack wants to scream, to tell them to shut up, that it’s not like that at all, that he looks at the statue they’ve built and wants to tear it apart piece by piece.

              The position of Strike Commander is not his job anymore. He wonders if it ever was.

              The mysterious appearance of the Reaper comes as a shock to both Jack and Gabriel, and the latter works day and night trying to track down who this entity might be. He doesn’t tell Jack what he’s found, if anything.

              They lose Amelie next. It’s a blow to morale, and when they get her back things lapse into a comfortable security, as if this wasn’t the symptom of something much larger. When Gerard dies, Jack and Gabriel barely sleep, much less speak to each other outside of trying to track Talon’s movements.

              Jack wants desperately to stay with Ana on their mission. He can’t convince her to evacuate. When her vitals are lost and the last thing they hear from her earpiece is cold laughter he nearly falls to his knees and sobs in the middle of his team.

              He’s the one to tell Fareeha, and when she starts to cry and runs into his arms for comfort he can’t help but think that he shouldn’t hold her. That he doesn’t deserve to sully Ana’s legacy with his own ineptitude.

              That night, he has a fight with Gabriel that’s the first of its kind.

              It’s not like the other ones, the ones borne of simple troubles, the ones that are resolved without fail. It’s more than that, it’s full of pain, of hopelessness, of resentment.

              “You could have done something! You could have gone with her, backed up her position, damn it!” Gabriel is in his office, a burning passion in his eyes that Jack’s only seen in battle.

              “I tried, Gabriel! The UN has no idea what’s going on and if I went against their evac orders they’d have had my job!” Jack’s tired, frustrated, just about fed up with their hard work coming down upon them.

              “They’re all jokes, anyway! I could’ve done something, I would have fought, I would’ve-”

              Jack’s not sure what he says to Gabriel to interrupt him. All he knows is that he’s used his Strike Commander voice, the one he uses against an insubordinate recruit. The voice that implies that he’s talking down to someone.

              He sees Gabriel flinch, sees the hurt in his eyes before they harden into an angry stare followed by quiet words that stab Jack more painfully than shrapnel.

              “Understood, Sir. I’ll see myself out.”

              He wants to run after Gabe, to collapse, to tell him he’s sorry, that he can’t take this anymore and that his emotions run too hot after no sleep and a million issues to solve. Something keeps him rooted to his spot and he _can’t_. Instead, he sinks into his chair and holds his face in his hands.

              Neither Commander speaks a word to each other in the days following, and Gabe is petty enough to start sending McCree to Jack like some sort of messenger pigeon. He seems concerned, although his eyes have lost some of the boyish luster they used to hold since the loss of his left arm. He’s a good kid, Jack thinks, which is why he hands the agent a letter along with a single flower picked from the seashore along the Watchpoint to give to his jilted lover.

              He never was good at speeches. But damn if he’s not going to make this right.

              The paper isn’t taken from his stack of “Strike Commander-sanctioned legal pads” they’ve supplied him with, it’s from an old journal Gabriel gave to him on one of their many anniversaries. It has tiny roses engraved in each sheet of paper at the corners, and it’s so Gabe it hurts.

              It’s so _them_ it hurts.

              He waits for the response, if there will even be one, while he looks at himself in the mirror. He sees the gray creeping its way into his hair, right at the edges, and sighs in frustration. He knew Angela had been merely postulating when she recommended eating all that kale.

              The knock on his door startles him from his reverie, and he spins around just as Gabe walks in like he owns the place. He’s across the room before Jack can even say a word and suddenly he’s being pulled into a fierce hug. Gabe’s wearing the flower behind his ear.

              “You’re a goddamn idiot,” he mumbles into golden-gray hair.

              “Must be doing something right if you’ve stuck with me this long,” Jack laughs. Comfortable, familiar. Easy.

              Them.

              “There’s something wrong,” he sighs later as they hold each other. “I feel like I don’t even have control of what goes on around here anymore.”

              “Tell me about it,” Gabe replies, “missions have been going tits-up too much lately. Shit we thought we had all planned out, too. Foolproof stuff ends in me losing good people.”

              Jack is silent for a long while. He pipes up quietly, “what are they making you do out there?” Despite what might be considered logical, the Strike Commander very rarely gives orders to Blackwatch. Almost nothing passes by him before going to the covert division, and Gabriel seems more and more stressed by whatever they’re forcing on him lately.

              “You don’t want to know, Jackie. Don’t make me tell you,” Gabriel says, the heaviness in his tone pressing down on the two men like a mountain of lead. Jack doesn’t pry further.

***

              News of Jesse’s departure reaches him not too long afterwards, and Reinhardt retires out of reasons he won’t explain. Genji leaves in a fit of rage in the middle of the night, leaving only a note depicting his need to find his place in the world. The storm in Antarctica affects the science lab and Agent Zhou and her team lose contact. Jack watches as his people seem to crumble at his feet. The press gets more and more vicious, grilling him with the same questions over and over again, as if he hasn’t spoken enough yet.

              Protests spring up, and he narrowly dodges bottles and other projectiles more than once. He wonders if they really are as the masses say. If they’re outdated, if they have no place in this world anymore. He knows there’s corruption afoot, and he barely says a word to the UN anymore. He shows them nothing, so they can take nothing.

              Then there’s the leak. The Blackwatch files spread faster than they can counter it, and the onslaught is more intense than he has ever imagined. Someone gets into the base one night and snaps a blurry picture of him and Gabriel talking, and the next morning the tabloids have it plastered over their front cover, with titles like “Gabriel Reyes corrupts Jack Morrison?” and “Unlawful operative sways morality of our Strike Commander?”

              He wants to break. To scream at them that what Gabriel has given him is worth ten promotions, worth more than all of their lifetimes combined. He begs his lover to tell him why that night, asks why he never mentioned the suffering he was put through at the hands of the brass.

              Jack’s seen the files. He’s seen the deaths, the interrogations, the bribes. He’s seen them all.

              “I couldn’t put you through it,” Gabriel whispers, “you had your own duties and- and I don’t think I could do what I do if you thought I was a monster for doing it.”

              Jack presses his forehead to Gabriel’s and lets the tears fall. No use hiding anything. He’s never had to. Not here.

              “You’re Gabriel. You’re a stubborn asshole and you love theatrics. You’ve pulled countless people’s asses out of the fire. You got put in a position that would probably break most people. You wake up every morning to do a job you hate that you’re good at and still manage to make other people’s lives better. And you get nothing in return. You’re a goddamn hero, Gabe. And I love you.”

              They didn’t write out that one for him. It shows in the way Gabe is holding back his tears and by the end of it he’s heaving sobs into Jack’s shirt. The blonde merely pets at the soft fuzz of hair he hasn’t had the chance to shave down and utters near-silent encouragements.

              Gabriel calms down after a while, sniffling and running a sleeve over his face. “I think I’ve gotten to the bottom of this, Jack,” he says, his voice still shaking, “the intel screw-ups, the leak, Talon, this ‘Reaper’ guy, it all lines up. We’re stretched too thin and we have people working for the other side in our ranks. The UN know something about it but they’re as tight-lipped as you’d expect. I’m thinkin’ we do a little exposition in Zurich and then high-tail it out of there. Maybe do some underground work, you and me. What do you say?”

              Jack contemplates it. Leaving his people behind, taking off with Gabriel and doing what they’ve always done best: work together, no bullshit, no speeches, no pretending. It’s tantalizing and Jack can’t help but want it. He looks at his partner just as he starts to get discouraged, and laughs hollowly.

              “Someone has to watch your ass for you.”

              Gabriel snorts. “You like watching my ass.”

              “Always have, Gabe. Always will.”

***

              The eyes on him and Gabriel as they walk to the conference stage press in on him like the death traps he’s seen in those old adventure movies. He’s momentarily blinded by the lights before the mass of people awaiting their appearance begin their cacophony of cheers and boos. For the first time in his tenure as Strike Commander, he happily stands aside and lets Gabriel take the podium.

              The way it should have been.

              It’s a blur after that. There’s a ringing in his ears, and Gabe’s speech is muffled as if there’s a wall of glass between them. Jack feels wrong, knows something’s _wrong_. He looks around, thinks he sees an odd flash of smoke in the upper rafters before the beeping reaches his ears. He remembers screaming to Gabriel, the shocked turn of the man’s head, searching brown eyes boring into his as if Jack’s all but affirmed his own suspicions. And then.

              Nothing. He can’t remember.

              He wakes in the midst of fiery rubble, blood seeping from two deep gashes across his face. He can barely see, he can’t breathe, _god he can’t breathe_. The ringing in his ears is still there, and he swears he can hear the panicked screams of whoever’s left alive in this devastation.

              He forces himself to cough out, “Gabe?” in a desperate attempt to find the one person he can’t do without. He feels around on the ground until his fingers come across something… soft? He hurriedly tears off a glove and feels the familiar ridges of the beanie.

              His heart sinks.

              He stuffs the hat in a back pocket and clings to the small ounce of hope that Gabe is close by, that he’s not answering because he can’t hear Jack over the roar of the flames. His vision clears a little.

              And he sees it. Sees him.

              He stumbles over to the body, pushing past the sharp ache of his own limbs, and falls at the sight of the two pieces of rebar impaled through Gabriel’s torso. He tugs at the other man, slaps him, holds the lifeless skull in his arms and screams, cries for what feels like hours. Jack doesn’t remember what he says, only that his voice is dry and cracked, hoarse from the smoke, and that his hand ends up in Gabriel’s in a mockery of their intimate gestures.

              The tears fall freely from his eyes, staining the already sullied Blackwatch hoodie. The smoke has cleared somewhat since he has last looked at the sky. He begins to try and dislodge Gabe from the metal prison, at least give him his own burial, before the sound of helicopters and pounding footsteps reach his ears.

              He knows he has to leave, to carry on in Gabriel’s stead, to fulfill his promises. It kills him to do it. He presses one final kiss to the dead man’s forehead, rips the tags from his neck, and takes off as fast as the stabbing pain in his entire body will allow.

              He reaches the safehouse he and Gabriel had planned on escaping to as the sun sinks below the horizon, having slipped through the darker alleyways of Zurich, using the panic and confusion at the explosion to keep from the public eye.

              Jack slams the door and grabs the medkit from behind the bathroom mirror and haphazardly sanitizes the cuts on his face with the pained growls of a voice he’s not even sure is his own. He jabs the needle through them, lamenting his poor stitching job before shrugging off the long, sweeping duster he should never have had the honor of wearing.

              He tugs his shirt off to discover that there’s a burn marring his right side and a smaller one arcing up his leg, and Jack wraps himself up after cleaning the wounds and steps back into the main room. He takes Gabriel’s tags out of his pocket and gingerly clips them onto his own chain, charred metal contrasting with preserved.

              Jack feels numb as he removes the beanie and holds it in his hands like some ancient relic from an empire long-since dead. Ironic, really. He holds it up to his face and breathes in the scent of his love, of the shampoo Gabe liked, of gunsmoke and the faintest trace of the cologne he wore sometimes.

              He’s crying again. _Stupid, weak_. There’s nothing to do but listen to the distant sirens outside, fall backwards onto the bed, and think in the midst of oppressive silence.

***

              The next few weeks go by in a blur. He hears something about Overwatch’s disbandment, the Petras Act as they call it, and notes that the words “coup” and “Gabriel Reyes” often appear in conjunction. He’ll kill whoever started that idea. They have no idea how it was. What really happened.

              He’s traversing the streets of Zurich, trying to get a cheap ticket out of the country before people recognize him, when he sees the little thrift store. There’s a line of jackets hung up on a quaint little rack, and the front one reminds him of the costume he wore at that one Halloween party so long ago. The red 76 emblazoned on the back is a little much, but it’s charming enough for Jack to adjust the hood and surgical mask over his face and wait for nightfall.

              It fits him well, although it might be a tiny bit short on the bottom, but it’ll do. He feels wrong stealing clothes and a pair of gloves from an innocent business, but kicks himself when he realizes that Jack would feel bad. And Jack Morrison is dead. He manages to stow away on a ship over to the US, holding his breath until the routine patrols pass, and almost finding relief in the fact that he’s not forced to speak anymore.

              He stakes out the graveyard where Overwatch’s fallen members are buried and tentatively steps up to the stone where his own name is engraved. A rush of dismay courses through him. He wants to uproot the headstone, desecrate the place where they believe his body lies. To tear the stone apart with his own hands until the ground is stained with blood from his abused skin.

              He doesn’t, but almost reconsiders it when he realizes they haven’t buried him next to Gabriel.

              The other man’s headstone is far from anyone else’s, as if preserving whatever story they’ve conjured up about him. The word “traitor” stands out among the rest, and Jack seethes with anger, nearly abandoning why he came here to find the engraver and force him to carve the truth into the stone.

              Instead, he sinks to his knees and lays a hand on the grainy smoothness of the tomb. He speaks, his voice irreparably grizzled from the smoke.

              “Hey, Gabe. Took me a while, didn’t it? Always was a little late getting to things. I suppose we’re in some deep shit now because… because I fucked up. Couldn’t watch your back close enough, I guess.”

              He sniffles a bit before carrying on.

              “I miss you. Keep expecting you to shove me and laugh because I fell for your jokes again. But you’re really not coming back this time, are ya?” His finger strokes over the “G” on the headstone. “I’ll finish what you started, Gabriel. I promise. I’ll find whoever’s responsible and I’ll fix this. And don’t worry…”

              He pulls out the tags, the metal glinting in the evening sunlight. “I still have you to watch my back, right?”

              The cemetery is empty a few minutes later, save for a rose placed on the traitor’s grave, the petals saturating the pale stone like fresh blood.

***

              Grand Mesa is largely deserted, save for a skeleton crew running the final stages of a cleanup operations. Easy prey, Jack thinks. He finds that battle, even without a gun in his hands, is easier than before. Easier to pretend each of these men personally sold Overwatch out, he supposes. They lie unconscious at his feet and he wonders if this was the thrill Gabriel found in what he did.

              Jack pushes open the door to the tech storage compartment, scanning around the room for anything useful. He nabs a few biotic field canisters, a sidearm, and an interesting-looking take on his tactical visor that will do nicely to cover his face. He spots the pulse rifle shortly after, and sighs with relief when he holds the familiar weight in his hands. He indulges his sentimentality and takes the blue one. Just to match the jacket, he tells himself.

              Going through the files is tedious work, but he carries on in hopes of finding some sort of lead, some clue as to where to look next. He finds a suspicious-looking record of five agents going on leave the night before the Zurich conference, each to a different place. He picks the closest location and sets out. It’s as good a start as any, he supposes.

              The raid ends up on the news the next morning, the battered crewmembers giving their accounts of “a crazy man in a leather jacket” cropping up in interviews. Jack has a gun pressed up against the rogue agent’s temple by nightfall. He gets her within an inch of her life before she cracks.

              “Talon rises from the ashes, with the Reaper leading the hunt. Your time is-” she’s gone with a single bullet. He finds names hidden away after turning the place over a few times, and leaves with the knowledge that he’s about to become a royal pain for Talon and their beloved Reaper.

              They give him the name Soldier: 76 after he raids another Watchpoint and someone catches a glimpse of the back of his jacket. Jack appreciates it, in a morbid way. A soldier is how he began, and it only seems right to go out the same way.

              He jumps from safehouse to safehouse, rarely staying in one place for more than two days. Jack realizes at one point that he hasn’t said a word to anyone in a month. He looks in the mirror, sees the silvery white of his hair that’s overtaken the blonde, prods sadly at his hairline, and accepts it. No pressure, no cameras, no pretending.

              He’s just a soldier.

              In his dreams Gabriel sometimes shoves him out of the way of the rebar. He relives the sight of the broken body, lifeless and hollow, sunken eyes staring blankly at the smoky sky above. Too many times he carries on begging for some amount of vitality to be forced back into his lover.

              When he wakes screaming and rolls over on the hard floor of wherever he happens to lay his head, he can’t help but wish he had died in the other man’s place.

              He tries to ignore the dreams where he pushes Gabe into the fire.

***

              His work leads him to Dorado a year and a half later, where he discovers the unchecked hold on the place the Los Muertos gang has acquired. The streets are barren when he discovers the thugs beating on the Omnic, and he’s about to show them what real strength can do when the little girl gets mixed up in all of it.

              Jack sees them take her coin purse, sees her run after them and prays to whoever’s watching that she doesn’t get far enough to be put in danger.

              Her trembling shout startles him out of the state battle puts him in long enough for the maggot to escape while he forces himself to move past the fact that this child is _afraid of him_. The grenade is another wrench in the endeavor as it rolls towards the girl, and the truck taunts him as it careens out of sight.

              It’s the look in her eyes, the thought of more innocent blood on his hands that propels him forwards to take the full force of the explosion. His clothes are singed, and the dull ache in his bones is accentuated as he rolls over, but he’s gentle. He has to be, he’s not about to let his mistakes bleed into the life of a child. She asks why Jack saved her and the vigilante stops to figure that out himself. He can’t very well admit that every lick of flame brings him back to the Zurich, that Gabriel’s eyes flashed before his as he felt the weight of her small frame. He’ll have time to process that later, after the adrenaline has settled and he can come back to himself, be Jack again.

              He leaves it at his old habits and goes to pick up his pulse rifle. She calls him a hero after catching her purse. He isn’t anymore, he tells her. _He never was,_ the small voice in the back of his head tells him.

              As soon as he’s out of sight somewhere safe, it hits him. He collapses in a pool of his own guilt and pain, his failures. Shaking fingers tear the mask from his face and proceed to clutch at his hair as his breathing ratchets up to 11. His vision blurs and snippets from the battle replay, intermixed with the countless other lives on his hands. It takes him a while to come down, and once he does, he gathers himself and heads out again.

              No rest for the weary.

              Jack watches to make sure the girl returns home and continues on.

***

              He’s in Egypt looking for whoever’s fucking with Talon when the Reaper turns up. He’s heard the voice over stolen earpieces before, but he’s never managed to track down the bastard whenever they’re in the same area. He supposes today is his lucky day.

              Luck ends up being a shotgun blast.

              The voice is too familiar up close, and his blood runs cold at the way the mercenary says his name.

              “I know your every move before you even think it. Always have. Always will.”

              Denial.

              “I’ve been looking for you since Switzerland.”

              It can’t be.

              “This is how it should have been.”

              He’s right.

              The dart hits Gabriel’s shoulder and he turns, depriving Jack of the death he might have thought he wanted, for that split second. The second dart hits Jack’s own arm, and when he’s expecting the same treatment he’s given a wash of relief, followed by another voice he never thought he’d hear again.

              At Ana’s command, he’s overcome with the raging fury of his vendetta. The desire to beat whatever Gabriel’s become out of this husk the Reaper infests, to destroy what’s made him into this…

              This monster.

              Ana manages to get the wraith away from him and back onto the ground while he lays there recovering from the vicious punch. From the realization. Then she says it.

              “Gabriel…”

              And it’s all cemented for him. He’s not sure if the Reaper giving Overwatch trouble before was indeed Gabe the entire time, if he somehow missed signs, if he didn’t see the smoky form he now takes, and he’s not inclined to care. Someone needs to put an end to him. At least to give the man he once knew some semblance of peace. A proper funeral for the good intentions he must have had at some point.

              The mercenary says Ana always took his side. Jack wonders if he even knew Gabriel’s side of things to begin with.

              Ana jabs at him for ruining her plans. He doesn’t argue. After all, he runs in without thinking all too often. As he walks away with finality, he hears the soft padding of feet following him. He almost wishes she’d stay away, if only for her own well-being. He wonders if he’ll ruin their friendship as well, as rocky as it’s become already.

***

              Soldier: 76 traces his hand over the photograph and watches the snow fall outside. In another life, he might have shared the childlike wonder with Gabriel, and remembers the shine in the other man’s eyes when he first saw the stuff. Jack finds it ironic that his waking moments provide happier memories than his dreams, in which Gabriel has taken to appearing, stroking a hand over his face that only becomes sharper and sharper until he is enveloped by smoke and cruelty.

              The news has covered the rise of a recalled Overwatch a few times, and Ana suggests that they might consider rejoining the organization, if only to have backup for their impromptu cause, since it seems that their efforts are focused on Talon as well.

              Part of Jack never wants anything to do with the life that took everything from him, wants to reprimand Ana for even suggesting something like that. He doesn’t because he knows she’s a much better person than he is. Even with every bullet she’s put through her enemies’ skulls, he’s the one that brings the world crashing down.

              So, he agrees eventually, if only to find some semblance of belonging. If only to find help in bringing Talon down, and Gabriel with them. He’s not sure what will happen when it’s all said and done. He’ll keep fighting, certainly, but when the Reaper lies truly dead, he wonders if all that’s left of Soldier: 76 will be a husk of a man, mechanically going through the days until he finally drops where he stands.

              Jack knows that only time will tell.

              Ana sends him ahead to reduce suspicion of their arrival together. He traverses the long path up to the Gibraltar Watchpoint, assaulted by memories of a happier time. He doesn’t know what the point of a new Overwatch is, how long it will last, but he allows himself to be selfish, at least in the name of justice. If they have whatever he can use, he’ll stick with them. They’re all wanted operatives now, at any rate.

              The tall mass of the building stands before him, beckoning him forward. And who is he to resist?

              Jack Morrison takes a deep breath, and opens the door.


	2. Reyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here lies the smut, folks.
> 
> If you like what I write, follow me on Tumblr at https://epsilon-writes.tumblr.com! I take requests :)

               When he’s 21, Gabriel Reyes is smacked into by a blonde kid.

               He shouldn’t give the newbie too much flak for it but the brass just reprimanded him for chucking one of his boots at his roommates when they insulted his music taste. How was he supposed to know it would hit the guy in the nose and break it? If anything, they should be giving him extra rations for his aim.

               As it is, he’s in a foul mood and brushes Blondie off by growling at him to watch where he’s going. The recruit hastily apologizes and books it in the other direction, and Gabriel almost feels a little bad for pushing him away so quickly. He shakes the feeling and moves on, denying to himself that he’s brooding.

               The same guy shows up about a week later, and Reyes is taken by surprise at the sudden appearance. He notes the way the other trainee is fidgeting, holding his hands behind his back. It seems like he’s struggling to look him in the face. Gabriel wonders if he’s been dared to pick a fight with him by the assholes in SEP, because apparently trying to take down a guy who’s been through Basic wins points in their dick-measuring contest.

               He has no problem with satiating their odd desires, it counts as more training. Plus, he can study how they work so he can gain the upper hand if they’re ever fighting for real. The new ones who are already scared shitless but decide to go up against him and the other senior recruits anyway, well, Gabe gently tells them that they need to seriously reconsider their life choices if they hang out with people like _that_.

               He’s gearing up to dole out the same spiel to the guy in front of him when he’s surprised yet again.

               “No hard feelings about last week, right?”

               Gabriel certainly wasn’t expecting an apology, of all things. If anything, he should be the one saying he’s sorry for being so prickly. He doesn’t say that, of course. Image to uphold and all.

               Instead, he leans over and carefully inspects the man’s nametag, making a show of it before asking who he is. Something falls in the blonde’s startlingly blue eyes, and Reyes is intrigued by the reaction. Did he want to be remembered?

               Before Gabe can say something to that affect, Morrison explains what he already knows. He dismisses it, states his side of the story, and tells the newbie to forget about it.

               _Like he thinks he’s been forgotten, perhaps._

               He makes a mental note to try to talk to this guy some more. He made the effort of seeking Gabriel out on his own merit, at the behest of his own anxiety. He might be worth hanging around.

***

               His chance comes with the announcement of a new strategy test that’s reliant on partners, in which John Morrison’s picture pops up on the hologram next to preliminary information about him. He’s 19, it seems, and hails from somewhere amidst the cornfields of Indiana. Well, his hair certainly matches the color of the stuff.

               Gabriel finds the guy poking at his lunch around noon and swings a leg over the bench to sit sideways, facing him. He greets him cordially and orders him to meet up in Training Room C. If he’s lucky, this “John” fellow will pull his weight and not ask any annoying questions like they’re on some half-baked dating show. At one point during a trust exercise, a fellow trainee had asked what his favorite color was and he had half a mind to smash her face into a wall painted with that exact pigment.

               John shows up five minutes early, right at the tail end of his stretches. Gabe decides to let him wait a little longer, bending and touching his toes for good measure. He mocks him for just standing there and the way the blonde twitches into action is almost endearing.

               “What’s the plan?” he hears Morrison ask. Gabriel knows he probably hasn’t experienced the extent of what the simulations can produce, and he’s not even sure he has himself, so he commands the other man to keep his mouth shut and follow orders. Just like a good soldier.

               The simulation boots up with both of them at one side of the room, a myriad of strategically placed cover and holographic Omnics barring their path to the other. Their task, it seems, is to get from one side to the other without using weapons of any kind.

               A quick glance over to his partner lets Gabriel know that their stealth options are limited. He’s bulky, and the heavy footfalls when he walked into the damn room could be heard a mile away. Lucky he seems willing to follow Gabe’s advice.

               With a bit of maneuvering, he and John crouch down behind a few simulated crates while Gabriel plans out their attack.

               “I’ll take care of the quiet takedowns, you’re not surprising anyone with those footsteps. You distract them and take out what you can and I’ll bail you out from behind.” Of course there’s limited room for movement, and wrong moves will send them careening into a mass of opponents with no backup.

               “You ready for this, Johnny-boy?” Gabriel asks teasingly.

               A look of frustration crosses over the man’s features. “It’s Jack,” he says obstinately.

               Gabriel scoffs. “You ready for this, _Jackie-_ boy?” He chuckles at the indignation on Jack’s face, and appreciates the fact that he’s so easy to rile up. He almost wants Jack to take a swing at him, just to see what happens.

               Just to make things interesting.

               They move out at Gabriel’s signal, sticking together at first before splitting up at the first sight of an Omnic. Jack tackles it to the ground and compromises it while Gabriel takes out the second one that’s made its way over to the source of distress. Both holograms fade away and Gabe looks over at his partner and sees the concentration on his face.

               Turns out Jackie-boy isn’t all bark and no bite, after all.

               He may be loud with his way of doing things, preferring to ram his shoulders against their enemies instead of going for the indirect approach, but it compliments Gabriel quite well. They reach the other side of the room and Jack makes to tap them both out.

               His wrist is caught in an unforgiving grip.

               “Hold up, man. I’ll tap us out.” Gabriel’s eyes fixate on Jack’s face, the confused expression, the rise and fall of his stature with each labored breath, and he hates that he needs to test this man’s morale. Hates that this needs to be some sort of victory for him. But he keeps going.

               _Resist. Argue. Hate me, come on._

               “We tap ourselves out, Reyes.”

               Gabriel looks down at the panel, sees the “Trainee #1” and “Trainee #2” slots, and looks back to Jack.

               _Oh._

               “Yeah, sure. I knew that.” Jack gives him a funny-looking smile and taps himself out with his other hand, waiting for him to do the same so the doors will open. Gabriel gingerly lets the other man’s wrist go, tapping the panel. The doors hiss apart and they both exit the simulation.

               The older recruit covers for his mistake by clapping his partner on the back and scheduling another training session the next day, and retires to his room to think about how… _interesting_ Jack is.

               He’s stubborn in the right way, not reactionary at the slightest shove to his masculinity like a lot of the others, and doesn’t slack off or step over anyone to come out on top. He’s intriguing and Gabriel wants to know more about him. Even if his “take the high road” approach was a little too straight-edge.

               Anyway, how was Gabriel supposed to know they tap themselves out? The only other time they’d put him in a duo activity was with someone who had already been injected, and she’d dropped dead right in the middle of the exercise. The memory of the medics that rushed in and hoisted the woman’s limp body out of sight stays with him when he sleeps.

               Needless to say that he’s used to doing things alone.

***

               They experience no large troubles with the next practice session, and Gabriel discovers that he and Jack have some sort of knack for working with each other. It shows in the training room and it shows in the actual test when they’re among the top ten pairs to complete the simulation, even though Jack is still new.

               Gabe wants to fight him.

               Not out of any malice towards the other recruit, simply because that’s what he knows how to do. He can’t very well ask a ton of personal questions without expecting backlash, or worse, the same questions directed at him. He doesn’t open up to people like that. He can’t, so he learns through sparring, fighting.

               Keep them at a distance, so he can be alone.

               But perhaps Jack is different, a small voice suggests. New people often bring new opportunities, and it’d be a shame to pass up someone he so clearly clicks with.

               Gabriel doesn’t listen, and doesn’t say a word to Jack after they’re finished with the test.

***

               The moment they start fastening straps around his body in preparation for his first injection, Gabriel knows he’s going to hate every minute of this. It hurts like nobody’s business, and he swears it’s an eternity before the needle actually stops pushing into his arm. The liquid they’ve put into the syringe isn’t much better, it feels thick as syrup and there’s a ton of it to begin with. What’s worse is they shove him out with some gauze wrapped around his bicep and take in the next patient with no grace period.

 _Fuck, he needs to lie down_.

               His roommates welcome him back with a “look what the cat dragged in” and aren’t surprised when all they get in return is a low growl. He doesn’t talk to these idiots anyway, especially not Marcus. Marcus is still angry about his nose.

               He flops into bed on his back and stays there, breathing gently and waiting for the spots clouding his vision to disappear. They don’t, and Gabe feels his breathing pick up in a way that’s definitely worrying.

               He sits upright when his vision blacks out. A few moments of frantic blinking later, everything seems normal… until the walls start _breathing_. His roommates’ faces start contorting until they’re monstrous, their fingers extended into talons as their unhinged jaws move without sound in a pantomime of conversation.

               He doesn’t realize he’s screaming until his lungs become desperate for air. Voices echo in his ear as though they’re coming from somewhere far away, and the walls start _melting_ as one of the figures in front of him reaches for something and holds it up to its ear.

               There’s an explosion of sound behind him and more of the freakish things burst into the room, holding him down as they grab something to press over his face.

               He struggles, rips his arms from their grip only to be restrained again, slowly becomes weaker and weaker. The hallucination blacks out and he succumbs to the sedative.

***

               He wakes to a hand gently shoving at his shoulder, a voice asking if he’s alright. His eyes open to the face of one of his other bunkmates staring down at him as if he’s some mutated science project. Gabriel gingerly pushes himself into a sitting position, rubbing at his face and feeling like the air is somehow too heavy.

               “What happened?” he asks eventually.

               “You started screaming and scratching yourself, man. Scared the shit out of us. We had the docs come in and they put you out, it’s been an hour.” The recruit stands upright and makes to leave. Of course he doesn’t care past making sure Gabriel’s corpse won’t stink up the place while he’s gone. The door closes and he’s alone. Again.

               He checks the time. About a half-hour before sparring. Gabriel gathers himself and heads towards the shower, mostly to clean up the layer of sweat making his skin shine. It doesn’t make him feel better, and the weight of his clothes just make him want to tear them off and walk around naked. Fuck whoever invented clothes, anyway.

               He lumbers into the sparring area about 10 minutes before they’re supposed to start, and finds the overenthusiastic recruits already going at each other. As to be expected, he supposes. He leans against a wall and scans over the crowd, hoping to find something interesting to satiate his boredom before his eyes land on cropped blonde hair before they’re lined up.

               _Well, what do you know_.

               Jack looks like he’s been through hell, and he barely makes it into the row of recruits as attendance is called. His voice sounds terrible, and as soon as they’re allowed to begin again he stumbles over to a wall and supports himself on it.

               Reyes follows him, partly out of curiosity, partly because he wants to make sure Jack doesn’t meet the same fate as his previous test partner. If Morrison dies, the SEP will lose a dedicated soldier, and Gabriel convinces himself that’s all that matters to him.

               He taps the blonde on the shoulder, feeling slightly guilty at the uncomfortable shudder that wracks the man’s body, and asks if the drugs did this to him. Jack grunts.

               “They really shouldn’t do that, y’know. I was fine after a quick nap, sure you can handle this sort of stress, Blondie?” He’s lying through his teeth. Of course he still feels like everything is trying to push him through the floor. He only notices the cloudy quality to Jack’s eyes when they look at him for a split second before their owner falls to his knees and faints.

               Gabriel almost laughs at the fact that Morrison has fallen face first with his ass in the air, but the amusement is overrun immediately by a sense of dread. He doesn’t question the anticipation of personal loss when he realizes Jack might be dying, and realizes that they’re completely alone in this. Whoever else is feeling the injection fallout is either here and faking it, or stuck in their rooms.

               Nobody is paying attention. That, or nobody cares. Probably both.

               So, he opts to push past his own feeling of heaviness and slight nausea and lifts Jack over his shoulder, groaning at how heavy the other man is and rolling his eyes when a limp arm smacks against his rear.

               He speed-walks down the halls into the medical bay, checking once or twice to make sure his charge still has a pulse in the first place. He breathes a sigh of relief each time he feels it. Gabriel kicks open the door, startling a few of the personnel, and strides over to an empty bed, dumping Jack’s body onto it.

               “He passed out during sparring, probably a side effect of the drugs.” A doctor comes over and spreads one of Jack’s eyelids open, puts the stethoscope to his chest, and nods.

               Gabriel is shepherded out by the man with a brisk “thank you” before the ward door closes behind him. He observes the empty waiting room and checks his schedule, resolving to come back after dinner to see if any progress has been made.

***

               Turns out Jack actually made it, and Gabe fights tooth and nail against the nurse for a while in order to see him. He looks worse for wear, but he’s alive and that’s what matters. Gabriel lets him know he missed mealtime, and doesn’t mention almost sneaking food out of the commons for the other man’s benefit.

               Instead, he realizes that if Jack continues on like this, each injection might just do him in. Gabriel takes a chance. “We should hang out more,” he says. He blames it on Jack’s usefulness, his worth to the program and keeps it impersonal. Maintains distance, because it’s better that way. He holds his breath until he gets a confirmation, and lets it out with the confidence that he can at least know Jack for a little while.

***

               Jack turns out to be a real riot. He doesn’t speak too often, but his quiet jokes make Gabriel laugh and he appreciates the other man’s ability to prove himself without forcing an aneurysm like some of the others.

               They spar, finally satiating Gabe’s desire to study the way he fights, and he’s surprised at Jack’s enthusiasm and ability to actually get him on the mat. Something about the fire in those blue eyes makes Gabriel want to bring it out more, to see what else this man has to offer. It makes him feel. Nothing specific, he just feels… more.

               Hell, maybe it’s some long-lasting side effect from the injections.

               The drugs don’t get better with each round, and Jack sometimes disappears for days before he shows back up looking a little haggard, but otherwise alright. As their friendship progresses, Gabriel realizes that he grows more and more worried for the other man’s wellbeing each time it happens.

               The fourth set of injections is largely reminiscent of the first, except for Gabriel deciding to wait for his friend since they’ve been scheduled next to each other. Soon enough, the blonde steps out of the medbay, and they both stumble down the halls to Gabriel’s room, since Jack barely seems coherent enough to tell the other man where his own is.

               Jack vomits as soon as they reach the bathroom, making awful retching noises that push Gabriel even faster towards his own puke session. He pats the man’s back as best he can, trying to comfort both of them, perhaps. As soon as the other recruit leans away, propping himself up on a wall, it happens. It feels awful, the bile burning his throat more harshly than it should, and Gabe counts himself lucky that he didn’t spring for the hot sauce at lunch today.

               It’s over, not soon enough if Gabe is being realistic, and he looks over to make sure Jack hasn’t keeled over again. He’s about to crack a joke about how romantic throwing up into the same toilet is when he spots the grey tint to Jack’s skin and the glaze in his eyes.

               “…Jack?” Gabe says tentatively, resting his hand on a shivering arm. The lids close and a trickle of blood drips from the corner of his mouth.

               Gabriel panics.

               He drags Jack out of the bathroom by the arm, the dead weight of his friend only making it harder on his weakened state, and lifts him as best he can and basically sprints to the medical ward, demanding help. Some other trainees are already in there and one of them is making terrible raspy noises each time she breathes, but there’s still an empty bed and that’s where Jack is laid. The nurse rushes over to him and Gabriel wonders why she’s fussing with _him_ when his friend is so obviously suffering until he realizes his nose is bleeding and if he looks down he can see the skin of his own cheeks protruding past where they should.

               He waves her away and demands that she treat Jack first. To not worry about him.

               He’ll handle it alone.

               And so Gabriel sits, a wadded-up tissue shoved up his nose and a face that looks like it’s been stung by twelve wasps, waiting for Jack to wake up. To come back.

               He does, and the wash of relief that floods through Gabriel is confusing and slightly scary. Jack mumbles that it’s nice to know that someone cares, and Gabe is shocked that he feels that insignificant.

               “Of course I care about you, Jack.”

               If the blonde hears him, he doesn’t say anything.

***

               Jack is his best friend, and Gabriel doesn’t have to pretend that it’s not the case. He has his back like no one else in the program, and even went out of his way to prove Gabriel’s innocence in the brawl that started in the commons over the last piece of tiramisu.

               He’s been supported, bantered with, called out, trusted, even carried bridal style by the other man on one rare occasion. That particular memory is one of his fondest, even if it does involve his knees giving out after an injection. The concern radiating from Jack, the way his eyes pierce Gabriel’s own, everything about him makes Gabe _feel_.

               And it’s not ‘nothing specific’ anymore.

               He’s fully accepted his infatuation with his best friend, from the way he talks right down to the way he wrinkles his nose and sometimes snorts if he laughs too hard. Gabriel keeps himself from going too far for fear of losing Jack. Losing his life, his friendship, or both.

               He’s terrified of letting someone have all of him, for fear of their safety and his own.

               So, he and Jack stay close friends.

               The beginning of their assignment in Overwatch is interesting to say the least, and they meet their teammates with varying degrees of friendliness. The tall one, Reinhardt, laughs jovially while their Swedish engineer is nothing but scowls. The knight states that it’s merely his way of saying hello.

               Liao seems ready for anything and Ana, well… he’s not going anywhere near Fareeha without a peace offering for fear of upsetting the power that radiates from her mother.

               Jack is quiet around these new people, and Gabe is reminded of the first time they met. He hopes for his friend’s sake that things will get more comfortable with time.

               Their first mission is a little rocky, but still ends in success. Gabriel finds that it’s harder to command an entire squadron of units, especially without getting to know them first. He demands sparring sessions and team bonding exercises so they can get to know each other more, and is thoroughly embarrassed when Ana knocks him on the mat.

               Jack doesn’t let him hear the end of that one.

               They proceed with more recognition and success stories with time, and Jack seems particularly startled when someone comes up to them on the street and asks for their autographs. They arrive at the base and he immediately makes off towards their quarters, blaming it on being tired. Gabriel knows better, but keeps himself from invading Jack’s space for fear of making it worse.

               He lasts about a half hour before getting too worried.

               The door opens and he’s graced with Jack on his side, eyes focused on a particularly interesting spot on the wall next to his bed. The impulse to help, to make him feel better, to see Jack _smile_ again is overwhelming, and Gabriel immediately sets out again to find water and some food.

               He settles on oranges, and shoulders open the door, confused by the look on Jack’s face. It’s the look of someone not expecting him to come back at all.

               He’s gruff at first, he always is, but as he fills the silence with stories of his childhood, he lets a little of himself bleed out, spill from his mouth into the air that hangs around them like heavy curtains. And he finds that he doesn’t mind one bit. This is Jack, and this is them. He doesn’t have to worry.

               They talk and they relish in the quiet as they lean on each other, and Gabriel almost kisses Jack’s forehead out of pure impulse. It feels normal to do so, and he desperately wishes he could put into words how devastated he’d be if he didn’t have Jack by his side.

***

               Then comes the mission in which Jack nearly kills himself taking out a Bastion unit for Gabriel to inject the kill program into the Omnic mainframe. He rushes the blonde to the medical tent and doesn’t let go of his hand for hours. As if he alone can anchor Jack to the earth.

               He convinces himself that he feels Jack squeeze his hand in return a few times.

               He finally wakes up, and seeing those blue eyes open to greet him is more than Gabriel could have ever wished for. He makes up his mind, kissing the hand that definitely _did_ squeeze his this time, and is vindicated when Jack pulls him over for a proper one.

               The first sign of discomfort his partner shows throws Gabe into an anxious state, because of course he shouldn’t have let himself get carried away, of course he got too greedy, and of course Jack suffered from it.

               Then he sees the easy smile and allows himself to forget, to get lost in Morrison’s aura of hope and comfort. Well, until Ana barges in and ruins the moment.

               She ribs him after they leave Jack to rest and heal.

               “So, I wasn’t crazy when I thought I saw you sniffing Jack’s coat a month ago.”

               “Shut up, that was one time, dammit.”

               “Of course it was, Gabriel. And I’m an Admiral.”

               Gabriel growls at her and the sniper merely laughs at him.

               “At any rate,” she continues, “make sure you warn me before you get too excited at night. I put on face masks before I sleep and it’s not smooth if I’m startled by… noises.”

               That gives him an idea.

               Reinhardt has to restrain Ana from murdering him and Jack when he finally convinces the latter to fuck in the room right next to hers. And if he went a little extra on the roughness to make Jack louder, well, no accusations there unless the blonde wants to admit that he liked it.

               That isn’t to say that their first time isn’t intimate as all hell. It almost makes Gabriel question his sanity when he looks down at Jack’s kiss-swollen lips, listens to the different sounds he makes when Gabe touches him in various places, and realizes just how bad he has it for this man.

               It’s cemented when Jack squirms away from his efforts to clean them both up and Gabriel just wants to hold on and never let go. He questions what he ever did to deserve this.

               They lay there in the afterglow, and Jack promises to show him just as good a time when they go at it again. His voice gets low and husky and he squeezes Gabriel’s ass in a way that makes him want to melt and obey whatever the other man tells him.

               Jack apparently hasn’t figured out that he’s already showed Gabe the time of his life. And in those moments, as they breathe in each other and roaming hands caress skin in a well-needed respite from the roughness the battlefield carves into their bodies, Gabriel realizes he doesn’t need to worry about giving himself away.

               Because Jack has had all of him this entire time.

***

               _“Congratulations on your command of the Strike Team, Reyes. The results are better than we ever could have hoped. In fact, we are planning on expanding your operation to a more diplomatic, worldwide organization. A beacon of hope across all nations, if you will. You should know that you are in heavy consideration for the position of Strike Commander as well. We will announce the news to your entire team shortly.”_

The words ring in Gabriel’s ears as he and his five comrades stand in front of an attentive group of dignitaries from multiple countries. He allows himself to be prideful in the recognition for his efforts, even if he might have embarrassed himself in front of the small council by stating that “it’s about time.”

               The crowd lauds their efforts when they are publicly recognized by the UN as the legendary Strike Team that won the war against the Omnic threat. In that moment, Gabriel can finally breathe a sigh of relief that he hasn’t taken since the fighting started. Thoughts plague him still- whispers of the inevitability of death, of Jack and Ana and the rest vanishing from his grasp in a cruel reminder of their own mortality. Nothing is ever over for soldiers.

               It’s Jack’s hope that dragged him, and probably the rest of them, out of the pits of despair at many points. He doesn’t feel the need to be the center of attention, and Gabe has realized the man actually dislikes it, but his quiet words of wisdom and encouragement have made the most difference. He’s captivating, in Gabriel’s eyes. Well, perhaps for different reasons but to him it doesn’t matter.

               The after-party is useful for making connections, learning more about certain positions of office from wine-loosened lips. It’s part of his job, after all. He of course gets the ones who are a little too confident trying to flirt with him, regardless of their gender. A simple “I don’t swing that way” turns them in the other direction, and he wants to laugh at the mental image of all of them in a room together debating his sexuality.

               He sees others flirting with Ana, and at one point he swears she almost cracks a bottle over an older man’s head after the fifth time she tells him her daughter and her job are her main priorities. Jack is more subtle, and Gabriel can tell that the man is nervous as he’s surrounded by suits and dresses with no foreseeable means of escape.

               Maybe he’ll help Jack unwind later, who knows.

               They make their escape as soon as the gathering is over, and Gabriel is thankful that they’re roommates- it minimizes the suspicion over the two of them frantically rushing to their room. As soon as the door closes Jack unbuttons his dress blues at a nearly inhuman speed, and Gabe is about to tease him for his eagerness before he flops down on the bed and groans loudly into his pillow.

               Gabriel laughs at his lover’s frustration and squats down next to his head, lightly flicking blonde tufts of hair before an arm angrily swats at him. He stands and moves away to undress himself, and when he’s finished Jack has pushed himself into sitting upright. He opens his arms in a welcoming gesture and demands that Gabe sit.

               Well, who is he to refuse?

               Gabriel leans back in Jack’s hold and feels the tension spill out of his body. Stubble scratches against his shoulder as Morrison rests his chin on it, and it’s horribly enticing. He’d love to have it scratch in other places later.

               But, if there’s one thing Jack needs after he’s tuckered out from socializing, it’s to have something to hold and fidget with. That something just usually ends up being Gabriel. He doesn’t think Jack notices the way his fingers trace and drum against Gabe’s torso, but it doesn’t incite any complaints.

               At one point, Jack asks him what he thought of the ceremony and the social gathering. He speaks his mind; he’s not afraid to bare himself for the other man. Jack accepts all of him and gives back just as much. He chuckles into Gabriel’s shoulder, a comforting hum resonating against his back. He leans further into the phenomenal human pillow he’s been presented with and gives Jack some of the details of what the UN told him earlier that day.

               It’s almost certain that he’ll be promoted, but he leaves it at “might” just to leave things open. Jack’s response is murmuring his congratulations and planting kisses down his spine and _fuck_ , he’s being touched in all the right places and he might just consider indulging himself and giving Jack all the reins tonight.

               The other man doesn’t seem like he’ll complain too much if he does.

               “Want me to congratulate you properly?” Jack asks, gently pulling down his boxers. As if Gabe would be foolish enough to say no.

               His lover likes the control, despite what he might say outside the bedroom. Gabriel can tell by the way he sounds, the way his presence is just _bigger_ when he gets like this. Jack looms over him, and it’s in these moments where his movements are invisible to Gabe that the quiet nature of his lover truly gets him hot and bothered.

               Jack has both of Gabriel’s hands in one of his own, holding them somewhere near the headboard. It would be incredibly easy to break out of the grip, they both know that- but Gabe doesn’t dare disobey him unless he’s in a mood to be punished. _Well, that doesn’t sound like a bad idea now, does it?_

               A firm hand on his back pushes him a little further into the mattress, putting him in a position in which he’s basically presenting for Jack. Just thinking about what the other man sees right now sends a rush of lust through his system. He feels the hand holding his wrist let go, and almost begins to move them down before Jack growls “keep them there” in his ear and _that’s how he wants to play tonight_.

               The backs of his thighs are assaulted with bites and the grip on his waist, his legs, his _everywhere_ is tantalizing. Jack’s really going for it and he doesn’t seem to be slowing down. Gabriel is aching something fierce and perpetually getting more frustrated at the fact that his lover is denying him the main course, and tries to incite some sort of action.

               He arches his back even further and wiggles his ass with a low-voiced “c’mon, Jack,” knowing full well that the other man can never resist the sight of his lower body. He gets a firm slap on the rear for his efforts. Not what he was expecting, but hell, it feels good. The hand comes down again even harder in the same place, drawing a rather embarrassing noise from him.

               He’s about to turn around and glare at Jack half-heartedly when the blonde lubes up his fingers and gets them into him _finally_ and he lets out a satisfied moan. It’s hasty, nearly frantic and Gabriel loves every minute of it. He brings one hand down to give himself some relief when all motion stops, save for a hand grabbing his wrist and putting it back with its twin. Jack growls, low and husky in his ear, and his eyes almost roll back in his head.

               It’s nothing new for either of them to love the control they have over their partner, but he’s not sure Jack’s ever been _this_ intense before. Not that he minds.

               The fingers pull out and he laments the feeling of emptiness when he hears shuffling and the telltale crinkle of a condom wrapper. Gabriel feels the weight of a well-built body rest on him before Jack presses into him and _fuck_ he forgot how much he loves this. They’ve barely had time to exchange more than a glance in the moments leading up to the end of the war, so they’re due for some good victory sex.

               If Jack could actually _move_ , that is.

               He’s grinding into Gabriel at an infuriatingly slow pace, mouthing gently at his shoulder and leaving hickeys wherever he ventures. He needs to get his ass moving, quite literally, and Gabe assumes that adding levity to the situation will spark him into action.

               He presses back against the slow thrusts and makes his voice as teasing as possible. “C’mon, _Daddy_ , I thought you were gonna fuck me good and proper.” It was supposed to be a joke, he swears, but Jack suddenly freezes with a startled grunt. Gabriel’s eyes widen. He wasn’t expecting it to actually kill the mood, especially since they often joke around during sex.

               He begins to turn his head slowly to ask if Jack’s pulled a muscle or something when his face is caught in an unforgiving grip, Jack’s thumb and forefingers pressing into the lower half of his cheeks.

               “What did you just say to me?” the growl in the other man’s voice is low and delicious, and it shoots through Gabriel like lightning. He realizes that the mood hasn’t been killed at all, as he’s shifted and finds that Jack is ridiculously hard. The blonde pulls them both viciously until they’re both resting on their knees, Gabriel still in his lap.

               “I said-” the hand is moved to his throat and squeezes, constricting his breath in a way that almost makes him lose it right there.

               “You could do with some respect, Gabriel.” _Fuck_. Jack’s other arm plants itself firmly across his lover’s chest and keeps the two wrists in place, effectively holding him at his mercy. “Now, let’s try that again.”

               The hand on his throat loosens just enough for him to speak. Gabriel gulps in air and turns, cursing Jack’s interminable patience. He knows the other man will refuse to move unless he swallows his pride and begs for it. He doesn’t, simply for the virtue of exploring what his lover has to offer.

               He half-heartedly struggles against Jack’s hold, trying to fuck _himself_ if Jack won’t do it, but the blonde snarls right in his ear and his muscles bulge as he restrains all movement. The hand tightens on Gabriel’s throat again, and Jack whispers.

               “Gonna have to ask nicely if you want Daddy to fuck you.”

               Gabriel lets out a choked, pathetic “oh, God” and grinds back on the heat buried in him. Jack chuckles, dark, beautiful, and starts marking up his shoulders even more. It’s going nowhere and his lover seems perfectly content to torture him until he breaks.

               “Please,” he whimpers.

               He’s rewarded with a thrust _right there_ and he knows Jack’s never going to let him forget the noise he just made. If anything, he’s going to see if he can get Gabriel to repeat it. Multiple times. He’s once again allowed to breathe as Jack lightly kisses the shell of his ear.

               “Please what?”

               Damn him. Damn him and his stupid ability to take Gabe apart piece by piece.

               “Fuck _off_ , Jack.” He pushes back just to see what Jack does, to see if his control will snap, finally giving Gabriel what he wants. He almost thinks it works when Jack shoves two fingers into his mouth.

               The voice behind him is dreadfully calm, however. “That’s not what I want to hear, is it?” Another laugh. _Infuriating. Addictive._ Jack starts to pull back, releasing his wrists. “But if that’s what you want, well…”

               Gabriel frantically shakes his head, unable to form coherent words around the digits he’s currently preoccupied with.

               “Will you be good?” He nods this time, and the fingers retreat to hold his throat in a loose grip, just as a reminder. To let him remember Jack’s power over him, the power that he has freely given away. To remind him that Jack has all of him.

               He’s more than fine with that.

               “Then what do you want, Gabe?” He’s done being a brat, he’s achingly hard and nothing’s being done about it.

               “Please fuck me. _Please_.” His own voice sounds breathless and desperate, but at this point he’s too far gone to even care, because Jack quickly works up to a pace that leaves him gasping, especially with the tightening of the hand around his neck once more. Gabriel’s own fly up to grapple at blonde hair and broad shoulders in an attempt to ground himself.

               It’s almost _too_ much at points, what with Jack growling in his ear and the feeling of total submission, and Gabe struggles to keep himself from letting go completely when Jack sucks a particularly brutal mark near his jaw. He feels the man everywhere, inside and out, and he quickly gets swept along with the intensity.

               He doesn’t inhibit his own noises, at least not tonight; they’re in a hotel with thick walls and the pressure on his airways is enough of a muffler in any case. That’s not to say he isn’t loud, however- Jack doesn’t slow down and keeps him right where he is, unable to get away from the steadily building knot deep in his gut.

               And still, this entire time, Jack hasn’t touched him.

               It’s infuriating that he’s this worked up without the slightest brush of fingers against his cock, and part of him knows that Jack won’t allow that until he asks nicely. Again. His stamina is astounding, not tiring as the hand holding Gabriel slowly drags upwards to tease and pinch at his chest.

               “You like that? Yeah? Tell me what you want,” the blonde growls, slowing down the tiniest bit to allow Gabriel to collect himself.

               “God, just fuckin’ touch me.” The words come out weakly, as if he’s desperately hanging on to any ounce of self-control he has left.

               It doesn’t seem to placate Jack at all, as the man grinds out his name in a warning tone. A look over his shoulder reveals blue eyes flashing dangerously, razor-sharp focus sending yet another wave of lust through him.

               “ _Please_ touch me.”

               Jack groans happily, and Gabriel thinks he’s won, that he’ll finally get what he wants, before his lover stops completely, chuckling at the indignant whine he gets in return.

               “Call me Daddy again.” They’re back to what started this unexpected development, and Gabriel thanks his lucky stars that he accidentally brought out this other side to his lover. At this point, when he’s _so close_ and needs the relief, he can’t help but break.

               “Fuck, touch me. Daddy, please make me fuckin’ cum!” Gabriel strains against the hold Jack has on him just enough to grind back in his lap, to get _some_ amount of friction going before he hears the blonde groan beautifully.

               He starts up at an impossibly harder pace once more and Gabriel clenches his teeth to keep from choking out more embarrassing noises. As it is, the moans that bubble out of his constricted throat are loud enough. A firm hand slides down to wrap around his length and he almost sobs with the feeling.

               He’s right at the edge when the hand at his neck squeezes _just_ this side of painful and Jack mutters, “such a good boy, Gabriel.”

               And he’s gone. He doesn’t pay attention to the fact that he’s probably shouted loud enough for whoever’s in the adjacent rooms to hear, and his eyes squeeze shut as sharp, intense pleasure overtakes him. He takes solace in the fact that Jack is just as vocal, finishing with a few stuttered thrusts and finally slowing to a halt.

               They’re panting as they both come down, and Gabriel distantly realizes that Jack is firmly rubbing strong hands over his sweat-slick skin and murmuring indistinctly into his ear. After a moment, the blonde gingerly pulls out and walks off somewhere, presumably to tie off the condom and get a washcloth.

               Gabriel grunts as he straightens out his legs after being on his knees for so long, flopping onto his stomach and processing what just happened. The sheets feel sticky and gross, but he can’t be bothered to care. He laughs a little when he observes Jack Morrison, naked as the day he was born, bent over the sink filling up a glass with water. He’s still reeling when his lover returns and sets the glass on the bedside table. He feels the wet cloth gently scrub over him, Jack’s other hand gently massaging at the knots buried in his back.

               Jack attempts to pull the blanket that’s been kicked to the end of the bed back up to cover his body, but Gabriel stops him. “Don’t you dare, Morrison. I need to let my ass air out,” he grumbles curtly. Jack laughs and leaves the comforter on Gabriel’s thighs. He turns onto his side and gathers the other man into his arms, fingers scratching over the buzzed surface of Gabe’s scalp.

               “You alright?” he asks, a worried undertone in his voice.

               Gabriel scoffs, “more than alright. Didn’t know you liked to be called Daddy, though.”

               The hands on his back stop briefly before continuing to caress his skin. “To be honest, I didn’t either. Did… did I do it right?”

               He’s back to regular Jack, then. Pity. “Well, my legs don’t want to move and I’m still feeling the high, so I’d say you were pretty decent.”

               Jack hugs him and slings a leg over his lower back. “Good, ‘cause we’re doing that again.”

***

               A week later, Gabriel stands proudly with the rest of his team awaiting the announcement of the new and improved Overwatch organization. This is what they deserve: recognition for the blood, sweat, and tears they have shed during the Crisis.

               They run down the list of formalities and congratulate those who are promoted to senior members, and half the team is dismissed, leaving him, Jack, and Ana. Gabriel knew it would come down to the three of them, and he wonders if Jack will remain his SIC or if Ana will take his place.

               She ends up being promoted, and Gabriel can’t help but feel sorry for his partner getting the short end of the stick in the agreement. The UN must have better plans for him.

               _Better plans, indeed._

               Blackwatch. He’s to be shunned and hidden away from the world while he does the dirty work. Of course it would come to this. He’s surprised that whoever was up there let him have a sense of security for so long. Gabriel knows better than to show weakness in front of these vipers, and Ana keeps Jack at bay for him to step forward and thank them in the most neutral tone possible.

               Jack seems as devastated as he is, and the other man stands dumbly in the hall outside the conference room as if waiting for Gabriel to turn him away, to reject him. He grabs the other man’s wrist and pulls him into their room, desperately trying to find a place where they can process the new information in peace. Without hiding parts of themselves to those who don’t have all of them.

               The door closes and Gabriel hugs Jack for all he’s worth, holding on to the man he’s loved for all these years, the man he’s not afraid to be weak in front of. The blonde starts crying quietly, reciprocating his embrace. He can’t take the sound and feels himself tip over the edge as well. They stand there letting themselves go, pouring out their own emotions until it feels too painful, too much to cry anymore.

               Gabe gently urges Jack towards the bathroom to wash their faces, and swallows his own depression to ask if he’s going to be alright. He gets a look of utter confusion and concern, and Jack insists that he should worry about himself. That he deserved this more.

               Gabriel justifies the decision. Pushes his emotions down where they belong. He’s been stupid, thinking he’d find some sort of comfort in an unforgiving world. They were made to be soldiers in the first place- they were made to be used. He jokes because it’s the only thing left for him to do, and both of them know it.

               Jack, for his part, insists on validating him, tugging him to bed and running his tongue over every inch of his body, giving him everything he can. It’s soft and gentle, and it’s too much and too little at the same time. Gabriel almost begs for Jack to go harder, not to be tender, not to love someone like him. Hurt him so he can feel something.

               It’s not a celebration for either of them. If anything, it’s tinged with sadness, with prayers whispered across heated skin.

               It’s almost like saying goodbye.

               Gabriel looks up and sees the raw emotion of the man who wears his heart on his sleeve when they’re alone. He sees and hears and feels the Jack who wants him and loves him, untainted by the job he’s about to take on. He feels himself before he will be forced to sink into his work, into the violence he expects, and he holds on to Jack as if that’s the only thing keeping him above an ocean of despair.

               A tear rolls down his cheek, and he lets it fall. He’s already fallen.

               Jack’s breathing evens out and the vice grip he has on Gabriel’s hand loosens as he succumbs to sleep later on. Gabe doesn’t follow him into the darkness. Instead, he quietly removes himself from his partner’s hold and dresses in loose clothing.

               By 6 in the morning, he’s punched his way through 2 bags, unloaded countless clips into a training dummy, made himself two cups of coffee, and broken down into numbness once or twice. His entire life, he hasn’t trusted anyone fully except for his own family, the Strike Team included. And he made the mistake of putting stock in the UN at the wrong moment. Whatever goal they wished to achieve by convincing him, they certainly accomplished it.

               Gabriel takes a quick shower and returns to where Jack is still sleeping, throwing his sweat-ridden clothes where they won’t be found. He climbs back into bed and arranges himself so it seems as if he’s been there the whole time. He doesn’t stir when Jack inevitably wakes, and forces himself not to lean into the gentle caresses the man bestows upon him before leaving.

               Jack does depart eventually, most likely to scout out some caffeine, and Gabriel lies there in the morning silence, his body highlighted by disgustingly peaceful sunlight.

               Alone.

***

               The Blackwatch quarters are in another section of the Watchpoints entirely, almost as if the UN has decided they aren’t even good enough to live with the Overwatch members. Scratch that. They definitely thought it.

               His office is well furnished, with a nice desk and a comfortable chair, and the whole thing looks like they’re trying to negate the betrayal by giving him nice things. Like he’d ever go along with that.

               He’ll take the stuff. He’s still angry.

               The Blackwatch crew is full of specialists, people who know how to do their job against all odds and do it well. Flexible moral codes seem ubiquitous as well. Gabriel feels right at home. They’re sent out on a mission as soon as they get comfortable, and it’s not too bad- just a routine scouting operation. The cell they’re observing deals in illegal drugs, and the information Gabriel sends back to the brass gets filed away in a collection he expects to grow at an alarming rate.

               And not even a thank you. Just a curt, “expect an operation to neutralize the ring to be scheduled shortly.” It angers him, and his new agents give him a wide berth when they touch down. He storms into his quarters and realizes that he’d be letting them win if he carries on like this.

               So he makes his way to Jack’s quarters, which are empty at the time. The lights remain off, and Gabriel sinks into the familiar scent of the space his partner inhabits. At least some things don’t change. Jack arrives soon enough, and he immediately throws himself over Gabe as soon as he recognizes the other’s presence.

               He seems exhausted, and the satisfaction that bubbles up in Gabriel’s chest makes him hate himself even more. He pushes past it for Jack. He always does.

               The blonde is receptive to the physical contact as usual, and as he lays there refamiliarizing himself with his lover’s skin, he finds he can cast off the feelings embedded within him. Because through hell and high waters, Jack is always there to bring him back.

***

               Through some witchcraft, his entire team finds out about his relationship with Strike Commander Morrison in the course of a single night. He knows because the next morning, the whole lot of them decide to tease him endlessly about it. They know they can because he values each and every one of them for the job they do, and there has to be some amount of humor in the drudgery of Black Ops.

               One of them goes as far as asking if Jack’s carpet matches his drapes and Gabriel sputters as the agent sprints away as fast as her legs can carry her. There’s about a 1% probability that she’s found out about the one time he convinced Jack to dye his pubes blue as a joke, but he’s not taking any chances. He goes through his photo cache and deletes all the evidence as soon as he’s somewhere private.

               With time, each member of Blackwatch becomes more and more like a family member, and he’s seen each of them break down from the stress of their job at least once. He remembers a particularly brutal session in which he was given orders to torture some poor soul for information, only to realize the man was under the threat of his family’s death, and by abducting him Blackwatch had essentially guaranteed their disposal.

               He had sat looking at his hands, the instruments of death and destruction permanently attached to his body, until some of his team members had surrounded him and placed a mug of something hot in front of him. Some of them dared to place comforting hands on his shoulders, and he sat there in their presence until he felt strong enough to rise.

               He did not cry. Not in front of them.

               The worst part of being the Commander of such an operation is that he can’t tell the one person he trusts, in Gabriel’s opinion. Jack is kept unaware of whatever goes on in their section of the Watchpoints, and it hurts his heart whenever the Strike Commander ventures into his quarters to make up for lost time, not knowing of the prisoner hidden in the next room, or of the blood Gabriel has had to clean off his gloves.

               The first raid they do on a large organization happens to be on the Deadlock Gang, and it’s only Day 1 before they’re soaked to the bone in their own sweat. In other words, it’s not a good time. Their surveillance is limited due to the sweltering air of bum-fuck nowhere, and Gabriel is almost tempted to snap a picture of a cactus to Jack with the caption “found something to spice up the bedroom” under it, just to break up the monotony of surveillance.

               They finally get enough of their shit together to move in on the hideout, and it’s quite an ordeal trying to infiltrate the gang’s own turf. Several of his agents are wounded in the fray, the weapon dealers using whatever they have at their disposal to keep the unexpected forces at bay. An agent drops dead, and Gabriel immediately seeks out the shooter and guns him down as vengeance. Nobody touches his people.

               He can dimly make out a few of the Deadlock members piling into a vehicle and speeding away into the desert, and he shouts at whoever’s listening to get a lock on them and block the escape, as difficult as he knows it is.

               Gabriel is about to call for a sweep of the facility after it seems deserted when he notices a lone figure on the back wall. He looks young, a bit scrawny, and his hair is ratty and tangled. The revolver in his hand shakes slightly and Gabriel sees his hand pull the trigger a split second before he dodges the bullet that embeds itself in the stainless steel behind him.

               The gang member’s eyes widen and he fires again, only to be greeted with a clicking sound. _Out of bullets, then_. Gabriel approaches the kid, arms folded. He signals to his team to stand down, hoping to talk some reason into the boy instead of taking a life without need.

               “Put your weapon down, kid. We won’t kill you if you-” He’s interrupted by his opponent letting out a roar and lunging at him, tackling him to the ground with unprecedented force. He’s strong for being a thin little brat.

               Gabriel is assaulted with punches that hurt a little, if he’s being honest. Someone on his team shouts, “Commander Reyes!” before he replies that they’re to hold their fire. He gets his arm under the kid’s chest and viciously shoves him away. He rolls and gets to his feet, trying to throw himself back into the fray.

               Something about him is interesting to Gabriel. He has a lot of spirit for someone whose friends just abandoned him. It’s something to be admired, and Gabe faintly remembers the days in which he used to get into fights with the other kids in his neighborhood. He always got back up, even when he was thrown face first on the concrete, because the world doesn’t wait for you to catch your breath.

               A lesson he’s been reminded of recently.

               Gabriel fends off the punches and calls for restraints while he subdues his attacker. It’s easy enough, as this guy obviously hasn’t had extensive combat training. Well, that and he’s fighting a super-soldier. He pins the kid with his hands behind his back, ignoring the repeated threats and utterances of “lemme go, fucker.”

               As soon as he’s presented with cuffs he gets the insurgent’s hands in them, throwing him over his shoulder and ordering the beginning of the cleanup operation. As his team scrambles to comply, he steps over to the body of his dead agent. He turns so the boy currently struggling and muttering insults at him can see the corpse.

               “This what you wanted, man? For her not to see her family again?” The movements grow still, and the voice previously telling him to fuck himself with a cactus quiets.

               “That’s what I thought.”

               The Blackwatch operatives are quick and efficient as always, and the dead body of their comrade is wrapped up and stowed in the back of the aircraft for a proper burial. Nobody questions why Gabriel has decided to bring the young man with them, but he is given some odd stares.

               They touch down and he immediately drags the prisoner into a free interrogation room after ordering his team to disperse. Gabriel undoes the lock on the cuffs and the kid rubs his wrists, seemingly glad to be free. He doesn’t attack, nor does he make a run for it. If anything, he seems rather defeated.

               Gabriel gestures for him to sit in the chair opposite the one he takes. “You got a name, kid?”

               Brown eyes look away from him and the boy scoffs. “What’s it to ya?”

               “Posterity, and I want them to know what to put on your grave after I beat your ass for backtalking me.” He won’t, not unless the kid gets any funny ideas again. But the look on his face is priceless, especially after Gabriel cracks his neck and knuckles.

               “Jesse McCree.” Probably not his real name, but it’ll do.

               “Well, Jesse McCree, I’m gonna give you two choices, ‘cause I don’t feel good sending someone as young as you to an early grave just like that. So, you can join my crew and save your own life, or you can rot in a maximum security prison for the rest of your days. What do you say?”

               McCree regards him with a calculating stare, and Gabriel’s suspicions are affirmed. There is much more to this kid than some country hick who’s good with a revolver.

               “Deal. But I get my gun back.”

               “Only when I can be certain that you won’t try to cap me in my sleep. Now,” Gabriel searches through his files and pulls up a picture of Jack and Ana, “these are the two people other than me that you’re gonna listen to. Blondie over here is Jack Morrison, you probably heard of him. Lady with the tattoo is Ana Amari, the second-in-command. If I’m not around, you go to them and disclose nothing except what’s necessary, but otherwise you follow my orders alone. Blackwatch doesn’t mingle with Overwatch unless we have to. Everything clear?”

               McCree gives him a casual salute. “Sir, yessir.”

               Gabriel nods and escorts the new recruit to the commons where a few team members are milling about. He introduces Jesse and shoves him into their ranks after telling him to find something to feed his scrawny ass. He knows they’ll accept the fresh face as one of their own soon enough, telling him everything they know, as most of them don’t have savory pasts either.

               In a twisted way, Blackwatch is their imprisonment and their salvation.

               Jack is entirely baffled by the appearance of the new face within his ranks, and he seems out of breath and distressed when he asks who Jesse is. Gabriel leaves it vague, lets him know of McCree’s worth, and lets it go. As much of a little shit his new charge can be, especially with his affinity for his new hat and kerchief, the kid’s aim and ability to completely focus during missions is astounding.

               Overwatch recruits Angela Ziegler not too long afterward Jesse’s induction, and the organization gains itself a new medic. The brass give him permission to send his agents to her in case of injury, but not to disclose any information, even under extreme circumstances. They still forbid him from taking her on missions, leaving Blackwatch to lick its own wounds in the field as usual.

***

               Halloween rolls around, and despite Blackwatch mocking his enthusiasm for the holiday, Gabriel remains as excited as ever. He’s been working on bits and pieces of his costume for months now, tirelessly working away at the stitching, making sure everything is perfect. Jack gets curious around the halfway point, almost barging in and ruining the surprise only to be shooed away.

               He makes the excuse of making final touches in order to conceal his plans to his partner, sending him on ahead in that damn stunt rider outfit he bought from some two-bit Halloween store. In reality, he knows that Reinhardt has been planning an overdramatic re-telling of one of his scary stories again, and he wants to make things interesting.

               Well, if interesting means sending the bulky ex-Crusader crashing into the table, it works. Jesse calls him a showoff, and he can’t disagree. He preens at the compliments, knowing damn well that he did an amazing job. Angela suggests that he make their outfits and he laughs along, knowing somewhere deep down that he won’t devote any more time to the organization that was swept out from under him.

               He’ll give all the time in the world to his people, though. In this particular moment, one person specifically.

               Jack leans against a wall eyeing him with an expression that can only be described as sultry, and as soon as Gabriel looks up and acknowledges his presence, he pulls down the zipper on his outfit in a way that shouldn’t be as hot as it is.

               All thoughts of basking in his own victory leave him, and he drags Jack over to whatever empty room they happen upon first and proceeds to fuck him until he’s whining about being sore everywhere and refusing to move until Gabriel carries him. He might not have stayed for the party, but he’ll take this victory over any other in the world.

***

               Gabriel orders his agents to strategically walk through Overwatch’s halls to garner whatever pieces of gossip they can bring back to him. So, when he hears of an accident involving time travel and a peppy British woman and a gorilla scientist constructing something that not only brings her back, but gives her the ability to warp and blink around, he nearly chokes on his coffee. He’s no stranger to odd occurrences, but it’s still a bit of a shock.

               Then they raid the Shimada Castle only to find it deserted, save for a severely injured man. They rush him back in record time and leave him with Angela, and Gabriel brings Jack the news after he’s identified as the younger of the two heirs.

               The blonde is surprised that infighting was the result of the young Shimada’s crippled state, and Gabe almost regrets telling him anything after he comes back from a talk with the UN utterly defeated. He informs the Blackwatch Commander that the Shimada will be taken into Overwatch’s ranks in exchange for his new body, and Gabriel is immediately skeptical of the UN’s innocence in all of this.

               He sometimes sees the cyborg angrily making his way through the place, blaming everything and everyone for his own state. Gabriel knows it hits Jack hard, and wishes he could give the other man the permission to do whatever he thinks is best. But he’s been screwed over long before his partner has, and there’s nothing left but to watch his and Jack’s agency slowly decrease to nothing.

***

               Gabriel watches with pain in his eyes as Jack grows more and more angered with the bullshit being sent his way. Much of their time alone is filled with his frustration, at the things he is and isn’t allowed to do. Gabe listens, because it’s all he can do. He can’t unload the horrors that flash in the back of his mind onto his lover for fear of the look in his eyes.

               He’s terrified of being fixed with a glare that tells him he deserves what he’s gotten, that he’s just as horrible as he thinks. That he was right for Blackwatch because that’s the only place they could put a monster like him.

               So he remains quiet, says nothing, only nods and lets Jack know that he’s here.

               The Reaper’s appearance on their radar gives him an excuse to lock himself away and research the being, barely leaving Blackwatch’s HQ to talk to anyone save for the occasional greeting. He succumbs to numbness at times, staring blankly at the screens in front of him with too little sleep and too little information. It discourages him at times- if he’s incompetent at the only job he has, what is his place? Where would he go when he’s already been discarded?

               Jesse loses his own arm on a mission that should have gone smoothly if it weren’t for that single sniper. He visits the kid while he’s recovering almost every day, and the gratefulness tinged with depression in those young eyes makes him wonder if he really is cut out for this. If he cares too much about his own people.

               McCree is fixed with a new arm without delay, and he has trouble adjusting to it at first. He can’t grip things starting out, and has to hold his utensils and drinks with his right hand. Tackling the gun is another step entirely, and Gabriel often finds his charge at the shooting range on the floor, holding the metal arm in a death grip as if squeezing it will somehow make it function. When Jesse is approached and a hand is placed on his shoulder, Gabe is greeted by the tightest hug he’s ever gotten from one of his agents.

               As with all things, Jesse is a fighter, and with the help of his impromptu family, he learns to shoot with his right hand. He often taunts foes in the missions after the fact by stating, “I ain’t even shootin’ with my good hand.” Gabriel understands the hurt he feels, and tells himself that he _did_ give him a future outside the four walls of a prison cell, even though he’s dealt with the worst humanity has to offer since he was barely an adult.

               Talon’s activities are worrisome too, and the frenzy both organizations are sparked into when Amelie Lacroix disappears is astounding. For once Blackwatch and Overwatch combine their efforts to find her, and Jack personally leads a team to retrieve her. Gabriel paces the length of his office for hours on end, praying that his lover is safe and untainted as he infiltrates the terrorist cell. He looks at himself in the mirror and wonders if Jack will ever be safe with someone like him anyway.

               Lacroix is retrieved, and the unease Gabriel feels at the prospect of sending her back to her husband is pushed down by the celebration at a successful mission. The acknowledgement goes to Jack and his team for _personally_ , and _singlehandedly_ gathering information and leading the charge. Of course.

               2 weeks later Gerard meets his maker.

               As bad as it sounds, it’s yet another excuse to become more reclusive, to force himself into the monster’s den, as it were. He barely sleeps anymore, surviving off of caffeine and adrenaline alone, and as soon as Jack and Ana’s team is sent out to go after Talon he slumps into a fitful, nightmarish rest.

               He wakes to Jesse shaking him awake with tears in his eyes.

               Ana is dead.

               For McCree’s sake he holds in his anger and comforts his charge, knowing how close the sniper had gotten to the kid. But there will be hell to pay for the loss of one of his best friends. He asks, as tactfully as possible, where the rest of the team was when their best sniper was getting murdered, and seethes as Jesse shakily informs him of Jack’s compliance with the UN’s evac orders.

               He leaves his agent as soon as he can and storms into Overwatch’s territory, multiple cheery members unhardened by the brutality of what he does jumping out of his way as they wonder what he’s even doing there. He storms into Jack’s office and immediately goes for the throat.

               They argue viciously, both of them tired and furious with themselves, with each other. It doesn’t seem like it’s going to end until Gabriel starts going on about what he would have done in Jack’s place. It apparently snaps something within the other man, as he slams a hand on his desk and fixes Gabriel with a stare he’s never seen before. It’s stern, authoritative, _condescending_.

               It’s nothing compared to his words.

               “Well, you’re not Strike Commander, are you? Apparently what _you_ would have done got you into Blackwatch, so why don’t you let me do my job and you do yours for a change?!” It’s more painful than the weight of the lives he’s had to take and it stays with him, ringing in his ears longer than the screams of those he’s been forced to torture.

               There’s nothing left to say, and he excuses himself with the hardened exterior he thought he’d never have to maintain in front of Jack. Whatever anyone says to him on the way back to his quarters is muffled by his own inner voice. It tells him that Jack is right, that he deserves the lot he’s gotten, because he’s never been good for anything else.

               He’s alone.

               Gabriel slams the door to his quarters shut and keeps himself from crying because he refuses to spill any more tears over this. Over Jack. If he wants to run his own organization without Gabriel’s presence, so be it. He supposes he shouldn’t wander into a place where he might never have been welcome, anyway.

               The ensuing days are agony for both organizations, and Gabriel sends Jesse up to the Strike Commander’s office every so often just to keep his own distance. He’s less cordial to the Blackwatch agents, and they tread lightly around him until the feelings pass.

               That’s when he starts noticing things.

               The way that a group of five particular agents can always be found together, ceasing all conversation whenever someone walks into the room. The way reports he leaves with certain people get “lost” on the way to where they’re supposed to go. It doesn’t add up, and he’s inclined to suspect that his own preoccupation with Blackwatch’s safety and the care he shows for his agents has kept him from seeing it for this long. Perhaps his own ego has kept him from seeing faults under his nose.

               Gabriel resolves to start doing research, albeit incredibly carefully.

               Jesse arrives is his office at one point with a letter scrawled on familiar paper and a flower he recognizes as being from the coast the Watchpoint rests on. It’s from Jack- he knows immediately from the rose patterns pressed into the corner of the page. He begrudgingly tucks the flower behind his ear for safekeeping and unfolds the note.

_Gabriel,_

_I don’t know what words I can write down right now that can tell you how sorry I am. We were both exhausted and hurt and I managed to screw it up even further. Guess I have a knack for doing that, right? Remember that time in Barcelona when my coat got stuck in a trap so I took it off but forgot that I had put my extra clips in it? You were so mad when you had to bail me out, Gabe. It was actually kinda funny._

_The point is, I’m a dumbass sometimes. But you already knew that. I get into bad situations but you always have my back, and I didn’t have yours when I should’ve. If you can forgive me, I’ll do everything I can to make it up to you._

_Here’s hoping. I love you._

_-Jack_

Gabriel folds up the letter and tucks it into his pocket gently. _If you can forgive me, he says_. As if he could keep away from Jack’s light even if he truly wanted to. It’s true that they were both fed up with the situation, and there’s no doubt that Jack had already felt defeated when Gabriel criticized him. He surges forwards, quickly traversing the familiar halls so as not to keep his lover waiting.

               He knocks as a formality, but opens the door and pulls Jack into a bone-crushing hug. He’s an idiot, and Gabriel lets him know, but he makes Gabe feel like he’s not alone anymore. And he stands there relishing in the warmth of Jack’s embrace, knowing that he’s missed this more than he’d like to admit. Strike Commander Morrison can be as distant from Blackwatch Commander Reyes as he wants, but Jack has always been Gabe’s weakness.

               The blonde asks him what the brass have been making him do. He begs to be allowed to remain silent. He can’t bear doing what he does alone, even if his partner is left unaware. At least he’s still accepted, monster or not.

***

               Jesse’s departure hits him hard, and he gives the man that’s shown him what it’s like to be a protector a final gift before sending him on his way. McCree sweeps the serape over himself and tips his hat in a final goodbye before disappearing with only the clothes on his back and a satchel to his name.

               He hears of turmoil up in Overwatch as well, what with agents retiring and leaving as press skeptics infiltrate and attack their sense of security. They lose an entire team in the Antarctic and Blackwatch’s missions keep getting more bloody, and not just on the enemy’s side. He routinely loses agents due to faulty information now, and it’s definitely not a fluke.

               It’s right when the pieces finally fit that every single mission file, every record, every video of their activities, get leaked to the public. The backlash is incredible, and Jack is swamped with angry comments and interrogations, trying his best to placate the masses. The tabloids get a picture of them and it’s printed with accusations of him corrupting the good Strike Commander.

               In a way, Gabriel can’t disagree with them.

               “Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you lean on me a little bit when you needed me?” Jack asks as they sit together.

               Gabriel gulps, counting down until his lover inevitably leaves him to wallow in his own sins. Alone. He explains as best he can, and Jack, bless the hope he clings to desperately, accepts him. Justifies and vindicates him. He can’t help but break down, because the security he finds in Jack is outmatched by nothing.

               It’s even more poignant when Jack agrees to go rogue with him. To follow his plans like they used to, to recall the trust they’ve always had in each other. He decides that no matter what happens, no matter who looks for them, the support of his lover will pick him back up.

               Always has, always will.

***

               He knows Jack is nervous as they arrive in Zurich and prepare to respond to the rage of the masses. Gabriel suggests that he make the opening speech, as it’s primarily him that they’re angry at, and Jack agrees. So he strides up to the podium with maybe a little too much satisfaction for what’s at stake. He allows it, however. They’re in for a surprise, after all.

               “Good afternoon. My name is Gabriel Reyes, leader of Blackwatch and original Commander of the Overwatch Strike Team. Beside me is Strike Commander Jack Morrison, and we are here to address the fears and concerns many of you have for the safety and integrity of our organization.” A rumble goes through the crowd, and a few outliers shout at him, insults echoing off the large walls of the space.

               He clears his throat and continues. “I do not deny that Blackwatch was formed without public knowledge, but it was not by my order, nor was it by Commander Morrison’s. After continuous research, I have delved deep into the roots of Overwatch’s history, and I believe the people deserve to know the truth at this point.” Murmurs break out amongst the mass, and he observes the curiosity in several faces, though most portray a degree of skepticism.

               Something seems wrong. There’s an unnatural tinge to the air around him, and a quick glance at Jack shows him the furrowed eyebrows of a man who notices the exact same thing. A security guard mutters something into his earpiece, but Gabriel pushes it aside in favor of revealing the truth.

               “You see, for some time now, missions have-” he’s interrupted when Jack shouts.

               “Gabriel!” he whips around to address the other man’s concerns. “They’re here, move!”

               “What do you mean?!” In retrospect, it might seem like the both of them are fighting to the outsider, what with their defensive postures and raised voices. But Gabriel sees the fear in Jack’s eyes, smells something burning, feels a shout tear itself from his throat as he sprints towards his lover before the building is engulfed in flame.

               He dimly registers the screaming of those present as the blast knocks him away from the podium. Gabriel staggers to his feet and is once again thrown as a second explosion rattles what’s left of the Swiss Base. He feels an excruciating pain in his torso when his head clears, and a look down tells him that he’s fallen onto a dislodged piece of the ceiling, judging by the rebar protruding from two holes in his chest and stomach.

               He watches the blood spurt from the wounds, feels pain surge through him like electric shocks, and knows that nobody will come for him. Nobody will save the monster from his fate, and he will die alone.

               At that thought, he’s reminded of something dimly. As far as he can move without damaging his body even more, he twists his head around desperately looking for the one other person with a chance of making it out of here alive. The fire licks at him menacingly, and he’s burnt in several places, but his eyes finally fall on Jack’s body, lying several paces away, motionless.

               Gabriel convinces himself that he can see the gentle rise and fall of the other man’s torso, and lets himself believe, in his final moments, that Jack will survive. His hand shakily reaches out to the figure, and he notices the tears in his gloves that reveal charred, decrepit skin. Damaged by fire and stained with the blood of his crimes.

               Reyes feels his own heartbeat slow, watches the blurriness at the corners of his vision overtake him, and lets out one last breath, soft and gentle like a sigh of relief. He dies alone.

***

               Limbo. Static. _Nothing_. He’s floating, still himself but not himself at the same time. He tries to turn his head, only to realize that there is nothing for him to turn. It’s nothing like the pictures of the afterlife his mother used to paint in his mind’s eye. It’s freezing and sweltering, heavy yet weightless, as if he now encompasses both ends of the spectrum and everything in between. It’s almost peaceful, in a way.

               He dimly registers a pinprick of light in the blackness, getting larger as some sort of pull upsets the balance he’s fallen into. He’s instinctively afraid of it, as if it will expose whatever he’s become. The gravity gets stronger, ever stronger as the light breaks through the cracks in his own world, and pain seeps into and through his being. Tendrils of golden smoke filter into him, and if he still had vocal chords he would scream.

               The last thing he registers is blinding, excruciating light before he’s pulled through.

               The light becomes focused, more artificial, the pain intensifies, and he once again attempts to yell out, only to find that what emerges from _whatever he is_ could only be loosely labelled as a scream. It’s a guttural, horrible noise, and there’s a mechanical buzzing to it that reminds him of a malfunctioning generator.

               The light shrinks into a bulb above an exam table, and he shifts, although he can’t feel the table under him, to see _her_. In all her faux angelic glory, Ziegler regards him with a smile that he instinctively wants to shy away from. Her mouth is moving, but he hears nothing except the ringing in his ears and her muffled sounds.

               The pain is too much to bear, and he catches wisps of smoke out of the corner of his eyes. Looking down, if what he does can be classified as looking, he discovers that he can’t feel the table because he’s some sort of amorphous wreck. He spills over the edges of the table, and the lack of eyes gives him the ability to see too much, as if he has millions of them covering every tendril.

               There’s a stasis field around where he is kept, and the smoke butts up against the edge of it in its attempts to spread out and evaporate. Angela is still speaking, and he finds that he can marginally control his movements as he attempts to strangle her.

               It’s futile, of course; he suspects that he wouldn’t even be able to reconstitute himself in order to choke her with his own hands. She smiles again, placating and sweet, before advancing. He panics, the smoke roiling and curling in on itself to shy away from the slender, dainty hand that pokes its way through the wall of the field.

               Suddenly, the lights shut off throughout wherever they are. Ziegler blinks and whips around as the field powers off. She turns back only to see Gabriel seep into the vent above them, pouring into the grass outside. She’s taken him to a Watchpoint, he observes. A gust of wind gently sweeps him away from the facility, and he lets it take him, trying desperately not to succumb to the sharp pain overtaking his every thought.

               He wanders aimlessly, ghosting through the shadows and pushing through cracks in the wall, invisible and alone. It takes a month for him to learn how to properly control this form, and yet another to actually construct a recognizable human shape. The pain has dulled, or perhaps he’s just gotten used to it.

               The moment he coalesces into what he remembers being at one point, it hurts so badly that he dissolves almost immediately. He tries again, and again, until he can suffer through the pain enough to walk on his own two feet. He’s managed to find a safe house, which was easy enough once he was able to float through the gap under the door.

               Shaky, unfamiliar legs carry him towards a mirror, and he dreads seeing what he’s become. What she’s done to him.

               He’s right to have fear.

               He’s naked, and it’s unbearable to see the planes of necrotic flesh, gray-tinged and pathetic, and he turns away to keep from looking at his own face. He’s disgusted, and finds a sort of morbid humor in the fact that he had once complained about the two tiny scars on his cheek marring his “perfect façade.”

               His voice is nothing like it used to be, either. At first he can’t even form words, struggling to rasp out small, pathetic noises tinged with buzzing nanites and scraping pain. He regains the ability to speak little by little, forcing himself to listen to his own barely-recognizable voice with regret and frustration.

               Gabriel has felt nothing but pure, unadulterated fury since he was dragged back to the semi-living, even though it’s a second chance. He thinks of Jack, wherever he may be, and wonders if whoever blew up the base has gotten to him before he could find somewhere safe. He prays that’s not the case and sets about finding something with which to dress himself.

               In his experiments, he finds that he can manifest his shotguns out of the smoke floating around him, as well as the clothes he was wearing at Zurich, although it’s incredibly difficult and leaves him reeling from the pain, almost as if the guns are ripped out of his very life essence. After several days, he feels weak and malnourished, and dimly wonders if he can even eat at this point.

               He rifles through the cabinets in the safehouse and discovers a few canned goods, immediately cracking them open to test his theory. Gabriel finds that he can indeed consume food, but the taste is muted and it does nothing to satiate his desire for whatever sustenance will fulfill him now. The only thing left to do is scout, and he collapses into the shadows once more.

               He floats though the alleyways, and startles when he hears a distant gunshot. The scent of death is overwhelming somehow, and he’s drawn to it like a moth to a flame. The perpetrator vanishes somewhere, but Gabriel is not inclined to pursue. He inches towards the victim or, more accurately, towards the glowing aura gently floating around her.

               It’s not until he looks down at the now-deflated husk of the woman, feeling well-fed, that he realizes what he’s just done.

               He flees into the shadows with a roar, speeding through darkness as far away from the scene as he can. He materializes back at the safehouse and collapses, staring at the hands of the monster he truly is. The monster who has just eaten someone’s soul.

               He doesn’t leave the house for quite some time, satiating his boredom with his own training. After a while, however, he feels himself fade, weaken, and realizes the only option is to take the life force of some poor victim to perpetuate his own decrepit existence. This time, it’s a few corpses of some criminals that have succumbed to infighting. Once again, he floats over them like a vampirical cloud and draws in their souls to feed himself. They’re left as shadows of what they once were, and he flees with even more shame.

               It’s a vicious cycle, and he ghosts around aimlessly, barely reforming into Gabriel Reyes, simply because he can’t stand to see the malignant color of his skin, the smoke that puffs up from his body as he struggles to maintain control. It’s around four months after the explosion when he runs into a Talon operation. He’s lucky that there are so many dead bodies littering the area, as he hasn’t fed in too long and his life, or rather un-life, is slipping little by little.

               He finds a cruel satisfaction in the fact that their bullets pass through him as he floats through the battlefield and collects the energy from these freshly dead innocents. It helps to distract him from the reality of what he’s doing.

               Then he has an idea.

               Talon could provide him with the resources needed to seek revenge on Overwatch’s corruptors, as long as he works under the guise of aiding them. Killing has always been his job. If he’s lucky he’ll take down the terrorist cell while he’s doing what he does best. He flows into the center of the operatives and lets out a dark chuckle, slipping into the persona he knows they want.

               “How pathetic, you can’t even manage to hit me. Seems as if you need my assistance after all- I came to offer my abilities in exchange for your cooperation. Do not think that I will hesitate to wipe you out if you do not follow up on your end of the bargain.”

               One of the grunts steps up to him and gestures to what he presumes is a getaway vehicle. He hovers behind it, not willing to materialize without anything to cover his face. It’s sad how immediate their trust is, for an international terrorist group. He follows the van through alleyways and winding paths until he comes to a clearing with only a single door leading to what he presumes is an underground bunker. The agents pour out of the vehicle and wrench open the door, immediately allowing him to ghost inside.

               Everyone currently residing in the dimly lit common area freezes and regards him with curiosity and confusion. His gut twists with anger as he recognizes faces here; several of the agents he had passed in Overwatch’s halls and a few of his own from Blackwatch are stationed here, and he’s glad he hasn’t manifested as Gabriel in front of them. One of the grunts he has travelled with motions for him to pass through a short hallway to a foreboding-looking door.

               They knock for him, and he’s tempted to float through the cracks in the door to interrupt whatever sick bastard they think is worth his time. A short “enter” sounds from behind the door, and it slides open to reveal a figure shrouded in darkness.

               The grunt speaks for the first time. “The Reaper has been found, Sir. He has come to offer help.”

               _The Reaper?!_

Gabriel has no time to dwell on this new information, as the figure begins talking without hesitation as the grunt makes their exit.

               “So, Gabriel Reyes. I was wondering when you would grace us with your presence.”

               They knew. It was all a setup. Gabriel’s mind races to find a way out before he’s somehow captured again and forced into whatever they did to Amelie.

               “Do not worry. That will stay between us and my informant. Please, won’t you have a seat?” His instincts tell him not to trust this man. They also tell him that if he doesn’t play along he’ll end up regretting it sorely. So he flows into the chair offered to him and slowly, painfully, pieces himself back together.

               “My, my. Not a pretty sight, are you?” He’ll kill this fucker as soon as he has the chance. Of course he’s not good-looking, he’s goddamn dead.

               “Post-mortem decay can do that to a person,” he quips. This leader, or high-ranking officer, whichever he might be, laughs quietly. It’s threatening, and it puts him even more on edge.

               “Indeed. Another question, if you will. If you have existed until now as The Reaper, and if you did incite the rebellion against Jack Morrison and brought Overwatch crumbling to the ground from within, why did you not contact us? The bombs were remotely activated but we could have flown you to safety without you being forced to undergo such… unfortunate circumstances.”

               Gabriel stows the information in the back of his mind to assess later when he’s out from under the scrutiny of whoever this is.

               “Too much suspicion. You must have seen the leak, if you weren’t behind it yourself. The information would be public, and it wouldn’t do to let them know of my activities. I work alone,” He responds, and it’s true.

               “Yet you come to Talon for help.”

               “I’m helping you, you would do well to remember that.”

               “Touché. Enough talk, Reaper. What are your terms?”

               Gabriel, or rather Reaper, is silent for a moment. “I work as a freelance mercenary. I am allowed freedom of movement unless I am operating under your direct orders. You provide me with resources and information, and I take out former Overwatch agents.”

               The shadowy man leans forward in his seat. “Such debauchery, betraying your own people only to rise from the dead and slaughter them in the name of your own personal interests.” He reaches into his desk, causing Gabriel to tense. He merely slides a communicator across the surface with a laugh. “You’ll do nicely, Reaper. Now, get out of my office.”

               _Gladly_. He ghosts again, floating through the small base until he reaches what looks like an armory. There are plenty of bodysuits of different sizes, and he collects one of them, along with a pair of boots and matching gloves, and a long hooded coat before dematerializing again.

               Luckily, the clothing goes with him, and he drops it as soon as he finds a suitable place to change. The suit adheres to his body like a second skin, even with all the extra Kevlar padding. It’s comfortable, although the boots and gloves could use more decoration. He goes on the hunt for a mask, making do with the large hood over his face until he comes across something that suits his fancy.

               The weaponsmith for Talon has some ideas for him, after he puts a gun to their face. He returns a week later after ghosting along trying to pick up whispers about Overwatch to find a new set of boots, gloves, and a foreboding-looking mask in the shape of a barn owl skull.

               Reaper now walks the halls of Talon bases, and Gabriel Reyes sometimes feels like he isn’t there at all. He visits his own grave, nearly spitting on it when he sees the word ‘traitor’ engraved there. He doesn’t stray near Jack’s for fear of breaking down in front of it. The physical manifestation of his lover’s death will no doubt override the hope he has for his survival.

               They never did find his body.

               He contemplates the events after his death from time to time, when he’s stuck in a single place, his body wracked with stabs of pain. They painted it as a rebellion, that’s for certain, and he’s not surprised. Blame the monster. Classic.

               There were multiple forces that hit Overwatch, and not all of his or Jack’s operatives are involved with Talon. Again, no surprise there. The shutdown of the Watchpoints also explains his escape from Ziegler’s clutches.

               The Reaper that preceded him, however, is a different story. There are no sightings of another smoky figure that drains the life force of its victims, so whatever they might have been is either in hiding or destroyed. It’s convenient that he has been allowed to succeed his twin, and he wonders if that poor soul is yet another failed experiment of the good doctor’s.

               He resolves to ask that question before he ends Angela’s meddling once and for all.

***

               His first hit is on one of his former agents, someone feeding information from Blackwatch to the outside. He sees his cowering face and remembers the times they played cards together, the excitement in his expression when he would show Gabriel something he’d found.

               His face looks even prettier splattered across the nearest wall. Reaper does not care for sentimentality.

               With every death, he convinces himself of his new place in this world. Gabriel sees his agents’ faces and reaches out in compassion, in desperate longing to be human again, and vanishes in a cloud of smoke as Reaper takes their essence to sustain himself. To sustain both of them, perhaps.

               His first attempt at sleeping is interrupted by fire and the voices of the lives he has taken, the families bereft, the psyches he has shattered. At the forefront, Jack’s face appears, the word “monster” echoing over and over and _over_.

               Gabriel awakens and knows it’s true.

               The information Talon offers him brings him across the world at times, and he quickly makes a name for himself, though he keeps to the shadows, forcing himself further and further into the mindset of the man who sees only traitors.

               He kills agents that might be innocent at times; it makes no difference to him.

               Talon eventually contacts him for a mission with none other than Widowmaker, and it takes all Gabriel’s waning strength not to run at her in fury and in supplication, to rip her throat out while begging her to come back to the woman she was. He’s as cordial as possible, and she regards him with steely, unfeeling eyes.

               They fail the mission, beaten with the aid of two children, of all things. Amelie is taken off somewhere by Talon’s associates, and he can only guess at the horrors they’re about to inflict on her. They escort him to a holding cell where a masked individual steps into the room, gesturing for him to sit in the sole chair the room provides.

               He does, and is immediately clamped down in restraints. The medic opens the door on the opposite side of the room before stepping into a room hidden by what he assumes is a one-way mirror.

               “Operative known as Reaper: do you acknowledge that you have failed in the retrieval of Doomfist’s gauntlet?” The voice is cold and unforgiving.

               “I do,” he responds. The electric shock that courses through his body is both surprising and excruciating, and he barely registers the sounds of his own screams. The pain dies down after a while, leaving the nanites in his system buzzing to make up for the cells he’s no doubt lost.

               “Do you acknowledge that this failure reflects on every individual in Talon poorly?”

               “I do.” Another.

               “Do you resolve to execute your orders in a successful fashion in the future?”

               “I do.” _Another_.

               “Thank you for your time, Reaper. Exit when you are able.” The door closes and Gabriel slumps out of the chair once the restraints hiss open. Small lights pop behind his eyes, and he can feel his vision fading. He quickly dissolves and rises out of the base before floating into the nearest alleyway and collapsing.

               _So that’s how it feels._

               Missions are smoother after that. Reaper allows himself to be used by Talon, and Gabriel survives off of the need for vengeance alone. He does not consider the innocence of those the terrorist group orders him to kill, especially when they use his need to survive off of life essence as a bargaining chip. They’re traitors, all of them- the woman desperately clutching her child, the man that jumps in front of the shotgun to save his lover, they’re _traitors_.

               To what cause? He’s not sure.

               He catches wind of a mysterious vigilante around his second year working as a mercenary. The man seems to be hopping from Watchpoint to Watchpoint, raiding whatever he finds and royally fucking with Talon and its associates along the way. He goes by Soldier: 76, and Gabriel feels a strong sense of the way he used to be as he cringes at the garish colors of the jacket the man wears.

               He asks around for information, and eventually puts together that the man uses a heavy pulse rifle and a tactical visor, has been digging into Overwatch’s history, seems to have a vendetta for people who sold the organization out, and appeared only after the explosion in Zurich.

               Gabriel dreads the day Talon orders him to kill Jack Morrison. He knows it’s only a matter of time.

***

               Widowmaker, for all her stony traits, is surprisingly good company compared to the rest of Talon. Perhaps she’s the one source of familiarity in the mess of conspiracies and attacks, but whenever he’s stationed at a Talon base he seeks her out. Perhaps it helps recall the time when he was truly alive, when he could safely believe that he was still Gabriel Reyes.

               Perhaps it’s because he swears he sees a single tear roll down a cold cheek every so often.

               They’re interrupted one evening as they sit in careful silence by a spritely girl dressed in purple, with what looks like augmentations decorating her thin frame.

               “So exciting to finally meet my new friends.” Her voice is teasing, as if affirming the fact that she knew every dirty secret there ever was to collect. “I am Sombra- they’ve told me _so_ much about the both of you. Especially Gabriel.”

               He’s heard of this one- the mysterious hacker incapable of being tracked and able to bribe her way out of a room of highly vicious military types. It’s no surprise that she knows who he is, and he doesn’t doubt that she passed on that information to the man who recruited him.

               The cheerful façade she puts on is unnerving at best, and it only gets worse the more time she spends with him and Lacroix. He treads carefully and says nothing of interest around her, if only to preserve any agency he has left. He doesn’t trust his life in her hands, and doesn’t doubt that she works for her own benefit. Amelie seems unfazed by his identity, and she agrees to keep him a secret to the other agents while cleaning a bit of dirt from under her nail.

               Perhaps she’s not totally gone after all.

               The days where he can barely pull himself into something recognizable come more frequently with each life he takes, though having someone to _talk_ to, however cautiously, is a comfort. He’d take a rocky ‘friendship’, as Sombra calls it, over being alone.

               As the Volskaya mission fails and he watches the door to the transport slide closed, he dreads the torture he knows is coming. Reaper claws at his insides like a raging beast, and he fears that any one of the brutal shocks will be the final straw, that Reaper will break through and he’ll completely forget himself. As if he doesn’t barely remember some days already.

               To his surprise, Talon only drags off their youngest comrade, ignoring her protests and shouts in the mother tongue that Gabriel has all but forgotten how to speak. He turns and ghosts away, wallowing in the people he’s gotten hurt, yet again. Perhaps he doesn’t even deserve the company of killers.

***

               They’re so close to discovering who the mysterious Shrike is when he catches wind of Soldier: 76 in the area. His chest clogs as if an invisible hand has just taken his heart that refuses to beat and squeezed. He can only hope that Gabriel Reyes’ biggest downfall doesn’t show his face.

               He does, of course. Fate has always been an unkind mistress. Reaper’s men drop, and he incapacitates Jack at the last second. He convinces himself it’s to draw out his victory. He speaks, long and dramatic, prolonging the inevitable, stalling the moment in which he will have Jack’s blood on his hands for the final time.

               Reaper points the shotgun at Soldier: 76. Gabriel doesn’t shoot Jack.

               It’s enough time for the Shrike to hit him with one of their darts, and the pain is minute compared to his own daily life. However, it gives him an excuse to distract himself, to feel the rage at this _traitor, filthy traitor,_ until she unmasks herself.

               Ana.

               He’s given a split second before she shoots again, this time hitting Jack. He immediately rises and tackles Gabriel, and the morbid satisfaction of getting what he deserves at the hands of the man most equipped to give it flashes through him. _End it. Please hate me, kill me, you’re the only one that can._ He fights, of course. He won’t drag Jack or Ana into his schemes. The won’t die to his failures again.

               Sparing the both of them is easy work, especially as Ana tears off his mask and he sees the fear in her eyes. He hears his name uttered with emotion for the first time in ages and the nanites give up as he does, his body dissolving and fleeing to the wind.

               Circumstance has saved him from revealing what he’s really doing or killing the people he once knew. He doubts it will happen again.

***

               5 years after the explosion, Gabriel makes a resolution. Talon is as strong as ever, the Second Omnic Crisis is in full swing, and no common flag exists under which a resistance can unite. The guise of getting more names works like a charm, and he’s given a small team to infiltrate the “abandoned” Watchpoint.

               He knows Winston, and if this works as planned, he’ll act accordingly.

               Let them hate him if it spurs them into action. The world needs heroes.

               The grunts are sent in and unwittingly perform in his little show, allowing him to seep into Athena’s hub and begin the extraction. His team members are thrown about as expected and he’s forced to engage the gorilla. He delays, once again. The pod should have knocked him out, but the ape is hardier than he expected.

               The Reaper persona whispers at him once more. _Traitor. You must kill. It’s all that’s left for you. You have to, you have to, you have no choice. Monster._

Winston’s brains save both of them. The shield’s explosion knocks him back, and the shocks from the Tesla Cannon are almost sweet compared to Talon’s torture methods. He dissolves before the nanites can be burned through completely, and hovers out of sight long enough for him to see Winston initiate the Recall.

               As planned.

               The punishment Talon inflicts on him is dulled, almost sweetened by Gabriel’s victory. He will be their villain if they need him. They’re needed in this world so he may become obsolete, and Talon with him. Perhaps when he’s finished wreaking vengeance on the corruption from the old Overwatch, he will join them. He chides himself for having such hope; the world has no place for him anymore.

               Perhaps one day he will meet Soldier: 76 on the battlefield once more, and will die willingly with Jack’s name on his lips as the man he loves destroys the monster he has become.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you've enjoyed this fic! Leave a comment, follow me, all that jazz if you like!


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